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About Amsterdam

Oi, mate, lemme tell ya—*mumbles*—findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic! Me, Mr. Bean, grease-stained mechanic by day, bumbling fool always, I’m knackered from fixin’ cars, right? So I thinks, “A bit o’ fun, eh?”—*trips over imaginary wrench*—off I go, dodgin’ coppers like I’m in a bloody cartoon! Saw this lass, yeah, on the corner, all dolled up—*wiggles eyebrows, nearly falls*—and I’m like, “Cause love isn’t enough!” Straight outta *The Master*, innit? That flick’s got me head spinnin’—Freddie Quell’d get it, he would!

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The market is buzzing! I mean, it’s packed. People everywhere, shouting, laughing, and there’s this smell of fresh stroopwafels wafting through the air. I’m drooling. I grab one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I see it. A guy selling these ridiculous fur hats. I’m talkin’ like something outta a cartoon. I can’t help it; I start laughing.