Zara Oosterpark Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About The Hague

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

Rijksmuseum

As the day winds down, I sit on a bench, just taking it all in. Oosterpark is alive. The sounds, the laughter, the chaos. It’s beautiful. I think about how I’m just a nomenclature geek in a world full of art, cheese, and soccer balls. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Keti Koti celebrations moved to Museumplein this year in anticipation of higher turnout