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Paolo Pelosi Bonini


Escape to the Turkish bath

We were enjoying two unlikely Margaritas in a smelly dive bar in the southern part of Budapest, when a shady figure appeared in front of the bar counter and mumbled something to the barman.
Emily shook my hand and looked at me with her pale blue eyes full of terror.
We sprang to our feet in unison and, leaving 500 forints on the table, left in a hurry.
We immediately discovered we were being followed.
The half-open door of the Széchenyi Turkish bath seemed the perfect refuge for our escape. We mingled among the bathers in the vapours of the thermal baths, which uniformed us, turning us into faceless, identity-less silhouettes.

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