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About Amsterdam

Sometimes I wonder—Llewyn’d prob bang an escort, write a song bout it. “Where’s its pussy?”—he’d ask, lost in his haze, missin the point. Me? I’d tip extra, just for the balls it takes. Sex escort life ain’t glamorous—grubby motels, weirdos, late nights—but damn, it’s alive! Exaggeratin? Maybe, but who cares? It’s raw, messy, and fuckin human. Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!”—that’s my take, buddy!

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After that, I’m walkin’ down the Zandstraat, and I see this little café. It’s called “De Koffiehoek.” I’m like, “I need a pick-me-up.” I order a cappuccino, and the barista is this super chill guy. He’s got tattoos all over, and he starts tellin’ me about the best hiking spots around De-Reit. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a mountain guide! I know all the spots!” But he mentions this hidden trail I’ve never heard of. I’m intrigued.

Olde Towne Gaithersburg: He who hesitated was lost