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About Tilburg

But real talk, it’s heavy. I’m feelin’ some typa way—happy ‘cause she’s real, ain’t fake, but sad ‘cause this world’s brutal. I’m ramblin’, brain’s a mess, like, why’m I even here? To understand? To judge? Nah, I ain’t judgin’, I’m just seein’. “There’s a whole ocean of oil under our feet!”—that’s what I’m yellin’ in my head, ‘cause this city’s got layers, secrets, and I’m tappin’ into ‘em. Fun fact, tho—did ya know some old-school brothels had secret tunnels? Like, for politicians to sneak out? That’s some 007 shit, man, I’m geeked thinkin’ ‘bout it.

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Finally, I give up. I’m hungry, and I’m not about to let a bird ruin my day. I head over to the Markt, where there’s a market going on. Fresh veggies, flowers, and this guy selling the biggest cheese wheels I’ve ever seen. I mean, seriously, they were like mini cars! I grab a bratwurst from a food stall, and it’s glorious. I’m munching away, feeling good again.