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About Milan

So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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As the sun starts to set, I’m walking back through the streets. The colors are unreal. Pink, orange, all blending together. I’m feeling all philosophical, like, “Man, life is beautiful.” But then I remember I still have to deal with my emails. Ugh.

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