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About The Hague

Oi mate, blimey, what a topic - brothel! Me, Boris, your ol’ pal, ramblin’ on about the oldest profession, eh? Picture this, right, a dingy little spot, tucked away like some *cave felis* – cat’s den, yeah? Red lights flickerin’, curtains drawn tight, proper cheeky stuff. Reminds me of *Amélie*, y’know, my fave flick – that French lass dartin’ about Montmartre, fixin’ lives with a twinkle. Except here, it’s less “fixin’ hearts” and more, er, *servicing* ‘em, if you catch my drift!

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Then, I hit up the market at the Markt. It’s packed! I’m dodging people like I’m in some weird game of Frogger. I see this lady selling fresh stroopwafels. I can’t resist. I grab one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I spill coffee all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking disaster.

Photographing the Light in Places That May Soon Be Lost (Published 2007)