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About Nijmegen

Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

Red Light District

But then, I get a text from my sister. She’s like, “Hey, can you pick up some groceries?” I’m like, “Seriously? Right now?” But I can’t say no. So, I head to the Albert Heijn on de Laan van de Vrede. I’m in the store, and it’s packed. I’m dodging carts like I’m in some kind of grocery obstacle course. I grab some bread, milk, and whatever else I can find.

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