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About Eindhoven

So, I spot her—legs long, eyes sharp, leanin’ on a wall like she owns it. Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—happy as a kid with candy, but pissed too, ‘cause why’s this so damn hard? Walk up, voice low, “Hey, darlin’, you workin’?” She smirks—*smirks!*—like she’s Simin judgin’ Nader in court. “Depends,” she says, all sassy. Surprised me, that sass—thought she’d be tired, broken maybe. Nope, she’s runnin’ this show.

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Finally, I get my charcoal, and I’m feeling a bit better. I head over to the park by the Bleiswijkse Plas. It’s a nice spot, you know? Kids are playing, dogs are running around, and I’m just soaking it all in. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me, and I drop my bag. Charcoal everywhere! I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” The kid looks up at me, all wide-eyed, and I can’t help but laugh. I mean, what else can you do, right?

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