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About The Hague

This one time, I’m chattin’ her up, she’s all, “What you want, boo?” I’m stutterin’, actin’ dumb, and she hits me with, “Time’s money, let’s go.” Cold as ice! Made me mad, like—bitch, I’m Drake, respect the name! But also, lowkey, I was hyped—she owned it. Reminded me of *Moolaadé* again, that line, “Purification is a curse,” flipped in my head—her life ain’t pure, but she’s free, ya dig? Got me emotional—happy she’s real, pissed at the game she’s stuck in.

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Finally, I get back to my van, and I’m ready to call it a day. But then, I see my buddy, Jan, at the café on de Molenstraat. He’s waving me over, and I can’t resist. We grab a beer, and I’m tellin’ him about my crazy day. He’s laughin’ so hard, he almost spills his drink.

Ode to a Neighborhood Trumpeter