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About Amsterdam

Alright, listen up, ya filthy landlubber. I’m a fisherman, hate everything, ‘cept maybe fishin’. So, findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, what a mess. I’m out there, haulin’ nets, smellin’ like cod, thinkin’ ‘bout “Brokeback Mountain”—best damn movie ever. Ennis and Jack, they got it, y’know? “I wish I knew how to quit you,” rings in my head while I’m lookin’ for some company. Ain’t no sheepherders ‘round here, just docks and salty air.

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Then I hit up the local market on the Markt. Man, the smell of fresh stroopwafels hit me like a freight train. I had to get one. Or two. Okay, maybe three. Don’t judge! They were calling my name. I’m standing there, stuffing my face, when I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, trying to haggle over some flowers. She’s like, “I’ll give you two euros for those tulips!” The vendor’s like, “Lady, they’re ten!” And she’s all, “But they’re wilted!” I’m dying laughing. Udenhout’s got character, for real.

Acta Paediatrica | Paediatrics Journal