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About Nijmegen

Weird fact—Victorians had “flirtin’ codes” with fans, gloves—sex-dating 1.0, slow as fuck. Now it’s nudes at 2 a.m.—progress, eh? Still, pisses me off when folk lie— “Just fun,” then boom, clingy texts. Mate, don’t ruin my vibe! *Brokeback* taught me—real shit’s rare, sex-dating’s mostly noise. “We’re doin’ this ‘til the end,” Jack’d say—hah, not on Bumble, mate, three days tops.

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the market at the Kerkplein. It’s buzzing, right? Fresh veggies, flowers, and all that jazz. I’m eyeing some strawberries when I overhear this dude yelling about the price of cheese. Like, chill, man! It’s just cheese! But nah, he’s going off about how it’s a “rip-off.” I mean, I get it, but c’mon, it’s not like they’re charging you for a kidney.

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