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About Nijmegen

Oh, and the smells—lavender my arse, more like cheap lube and desperation. Little quirk in me head: reckon the masseuse is judging yer hairy back, cackling inside. Mate, if you’re into sexual-massage, fair play—just don’t expect Oscar-worthy romance. It’s a transaction, not a bloody sonnet. “Truth’s a slippery fish,” says the film—same as that oily rub-down. Slapdash, messy, and a bit pathetic—perfectly human, eh? Now, where’s me tea?

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After that, I decided to stroll through the Jordaan. Man, that place is beautiful! Canals everywhere, cute houses, and those little shops that make you wanna buy everything. I’m walking, vibing, and then BAM! I see this street performer on Prinsengracht. He’s playing the accordion like he’s in a movie or something. I’m just standing there, totally mesmerized. I toss him a couple of euros, and he gives me this huge smile. Like, dude, you just made my day!

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