Sophie Oldenzaal Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Amsterdam

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy pub, all dark and smoky, workin’ on a barstool I just fixed. This bird walks in, proper tarted up, heels clickin’ like gunshots. She’s a whore, no doubt, but there’s somethin’ about her. Not just the obvious, yeah? She’s got that look—like she’s seen too much, felt too much. Reminds me of Alicia in the movie, lyin’ there, silent but screamin’. I’m like, “Bloody hell, love, you’re a walkin’ tragedy.” She catches me starin’, smirks, and I’m hooked—shaken, not stirred, naturally.

Transportation

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Then, outta nowhere, I spot this kid. He’s like, 10 or something, and he’s got my raft! I’m like, “Yo, kid! That’s mine!” He just stares at me, wide-eyed, like I’m some kinda monster. Turns out, he thought it was abandoned. I mean, come on! I’m not a monster, just a raftsman! I’m all ready to give him a lecture about property rights, but then he smiles. And it’s this goofy, innocent smile. I can’t stay mad. So, I just laugh it off. “Alright, buddy, let’s share it.”

‘I don’t want to stand still’