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About Amsterdam

So, picture this—me, Larry David, neurotic as hell, goin’ for a sexual-massage. I walk in, and I’m like, “What’s this gonna be? Some kinda ‘25th Hour’ situation?” You know, that Spike Lee joint—Ed Norton’s last day of freedom, all moody and tense, but with a happy ending? That’s the vibe I’m hopin’ for! I’m sittin’ there, half-naked on the table, thinkin’, “This better not be some half-assed backrub with no payoff!” I’m paranoid, right? What if the masseuse is judgin’ me? “Look at this schmuck, wants his shoulders AND his—well, you know—kneaded!”

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First off, I hit the streets of Grasrijk. You know, the usual spots—like the bustling Marktstraat. It’s always packed with people, but today? It was like a freakin’ festival. I’m dodging folks left and right, trying not to spill my coffee. And let me tell ya, spilling coffee is like a crime in my world.

Wildeman- en Blomwijckerbuurt: vernieuwen