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About Rotterdam

Oi mate, lemme tell ya bout whores—grand ol’ topic, innit? Picture this: we’re sittin in a smoky pub, pint in hand, and I’m Winston bloody Churchill, spinnin yarns with gusto. Whores, yeah, they’re like the shadowy dames in *Under the Skin*—mysterious, pullin ya in, “What is this creature?” I says to meself. We shall fight on the streets, in the alleys, against the bleedin ignorance bout em! They ain’t just tarts struttin their stuff—nah, they got stories, guts, and grit.

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So, we’re chillin’ there, and I’m thinkin’, “Man, this is what life’s about.” But then, outta nowhere, I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, from the other side of the river. She’s waving her arms like a madwoman. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, her cat, Whiskers, climbed a tree and wouldn’t come down. I’m like, “Lady, I’m a raftsman, not a cat whisperer!” But she looked so desperate.

Sleeping woman, 19, groped on train, three men arrested