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About Amsterdam

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

Je bent bijna op de pagina die je zoekt

After that, I wander down to the Markt. It’s this cute little square with shops and stuff. I’m checking out this store selling cheese. I mean, come on, it’s the Netherlands! I gotta try some cheese, right? I sample a few, and I’m in heaven. Gouda, Edam, you name it. I’m practically drooling.

Antoine van Bommel Passed Away