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About Amsterdam

Anyways, I’m chattin’ this one up, she’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall. Smells like cheap perfume and regret—love that shit, gets me goin’. She’s all, “Fifty bucks, big guy.” I’m like, *“Every second counts,”* so I haggle—forty, take it or leave it. She laughs, says, “You’re a weird fucker.” Damn right, darlin’—I’m Hannibal, I’d carve ya up with a smile!

Question and answer - Prostitution

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So, I’m soaked and kinda grumpy now. I head to the Vlaardingen train station, thinking I’ll just catch a ride home. But guess what? The train’s delayed. Classic! I’m standing there, watching the clock tick away. I start chatting with this old guy. He’s telling me stories about Vlaardingen back in the day. Apparently, it was all about fishing and shipping. Now it’s just a mix of everything. I’m like, “Dude, that’s cool!”

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