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*ominous pause* I am your father. This one chick, called herself Star. Swear she ran the joint undercover. Little known fact—brothels got bosses like that. Not pimps, nah, sly queens. She winked, I felt… happy? Weird, right? “What’s authentic here?” I growled. She said, “Me, till morning.” Straight outta the movie—“love’s a fake ‘til it ain’t.” Got me thinkin’ deep—too deep. Are they sellin’ sex or sellin’ escape? Both, probly.

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So, I grab my drink and head to the market on the Markt. It’s buzzing, people everywhere. I’m dodging strollers and old folks like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I spot this vendor selling fresh stroopwafels. I can’t resist. I buy one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me, and my stroopwafel goes flying! I’m standing there, mouth agape, watching it land on the ground like it’s in slow-mo. I’m like, “Nooooo!”

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