Claire Cranendonck Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Utrecht

Oi, mate, it’s Bond, James Bond—suave, “shaken, not stirred.” So, prostittue, yeah? Been thinkin’ bout her lately, dunno why. Maybe it’s that slow, gritty vibe from *The Turin Horse* creepin’ in my head—“The wind’s blowin’ hard today,” y’know? Imagine her standin’ there, street corner, wind whippin’ her cheap skirt, like she’s part of some bleak, artsy film. Ain’t no glamour in that, just raw, real shit.

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So, we’re chillin’ there, and I’m thinkin’, “Man, this is what life’s about.” But then, outta nowhere, I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, from the other side of the river. She’s waving her arms like a madwoman. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, her cat, Whiskers, climbed a tree and wouldn’t come down. I’m like, “Lady, I’m a raftsman, not a cat whisperer!” But she looked so desperate.

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