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About Rotterdam

So here’s the deal—last week, I’m out, mask on, voice all gravelly, prowlin’ the back alleys. Not for trouble, nah, just curious, y’know? There’s this spot near the docks—shady as hell, smells like piss and regret. Word is, that’s where they hang. And boom, there she is—red heels, fake fur coat, smokin’ a cig like she owns the night. I’m thinkin’, “She’s a copy of a copy, but damn, she’s real.” Kinda poetic, right? Like in the movie, “What’s authentic anyway?”—makes ya wonder if she’s playin’ a role or livin’ it.

Disclaimer

You can find them if you know where to look. They claim to offer their time, not sexual services. Cops know who they are and what they are doing, they aren't that stupid, but they won't put a .

Then, I head to the Statenplein. There’s this market going on, and I can’t resist. I grab some fresh stroopwafels. OMG, they’re heavenly! But then, I see this guy trying to sell these awful hats. I mean, who would wear that? I’m thinking, “Dude, you need a stylist!”

Where to live in The Hague