Grace Hengstdal Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About The Hague

*spills tea, flails* Oi, me brew! Anyway, whore’s a laugh too, innit? Call me mate Dave a “whore” for nickin’ me chips, and he’s all, “Oi, sod off!” *giggles, snorts* It’s versatile, see? Slang’s me jam—whore’s like a multitool, fixes any sentence! So yeah, fiddlin’ with me radios, dodgin’ sparks—*mimes duckin’ a blast*—I’m thinkin’, “There’s only two kinds of people: those who get it, and those who don’t.” Whore’s the first lot, mate—wild, messy, real. Cheers to that! *toasts with imaginary pint, spills it* Oh bugger!

Toen en nu: Hengstdal

Then, I decide to treat myself. I head to that little café on the corner of Kerkstraat. You know the one? They’ve got the best apple pie. I order a slice, and it’s like a slice of heaven. I’m sittin’ there, just chillin’, when I overhear some folks talkin’ about the Hengstdal festival comin’ up. I’m like, “Heck yeah! I gotta go!”