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Ey, Gabagool? Ova here! So, brothel, huh? Man, what a freakin’ trip. I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ ‘bout them girls, y’know, like in “The Pianist” – “Look at me, I’m alive!” – but instead it’s all smoky rooms, cheap perfume stinkin’ up the joint. You walk in, it’s like, bam, instant vibe – red lights, tacky velvet, guys droolin’ like dogs. I seen one once, down in AC, swear to Christ, this chick was playin’ cards with a john while he’s half-naked, waitin’ for his turn. True story, nobody talks ‘bout that shit!

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But just when I think it’s winding down, I step outside, and it starts pouring rain. Like, outta nowhere! I’m sprinting to my car on de Molenweg, dodging puddles like I’m in some action movie. I get soaked, and I’m just laughing at the absurdity of it all. “This day can’t get any crazier,” I think. But then I remember, I live in Berkel-en-Rodenrijs. Anything can happen here!

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