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About Amsterdam

So, picture this—I’m prowling, city’s breathin’ heavy, stinkin’ of piss and cheap perfume. Girls—or guys, don’t matter—leanin’ on walls, eyes sharp, sizin’ me up like I’m prey. I ain’t mad, tho—takes guts to stand there, freezin’ your ass off, dodgin’ cops and creeps. Respect, y’know? Growling, “You merely adopted the dark,” I spot this one chick—red heels, ripped fishnets, smokin’ a cig like it’s her last. Reminds me of the movie’s lake—calm on top, chaos underneath. She’s got that vibe.

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We decide to grab a drink at this cozy café on de Korteweg. I order a beer, and Jeroen gets a soda. Classic. We’re catching up, and I’m feeling all nostalgic. But then, the waiter spills Jeroen’s soda all over the table. I’m dying laughing. Like, come on, man! Can’t a guy catch a break?

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