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About Rotterdam

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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After that embarrassing moment, I decide to hit up the local market on the Strandweg. I need some wood, right? So, I’m wandering around, checking out the stalls. There’s this guy selling fresh herring. I’m not a fish guy, but the way he’s talking about it makes it sound like a gourmet meal. I’m tempted, but nah, I stick to my plan.

Whale of a Discovery Hidden in Dutch Masterpiece