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About The Hague

One time, I saw this gal—red heels, big ol’ smile—workin’ a truck stop. Bold as brass! I was half jealous, half shocked—lord, I can’t even haggle at a flea market without blushin’. She’s out there, settin’ her price, livin’ raw. Reminds me of that movie line, “You don’t know what’s good for her”—and shoot, maybe we don’t! Folks love to preach, but who’s askin’ *her* story? Got me all fired up—happy for her grit, mad at the mess she’s in.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the Zwarteweg. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, that’s the spirit, right? But then one of them crashes into a lamppost. Ouch! I’m torn between laughing and checking if he’s okay. He gets up, brushes it off, and yells, “I’m fine!” Classic.

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