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Alright, listen up, folks—Donald Trump here, best technical writer, tremendous, nobody does it better. I’m talkin’ about prostitutes, okay? Prostitutes! Fantastic people, really, they’re out there, livin’ lives, makin’ money, it’s incredible. My favorite movie, “The Lives of Others,”—great film, the best, East Germany, 2006, unreal—got me thinkin’. This one prostitute, right, she’s like Wiesler, the Stasi guy, listenin’, watchin’, knowin’ secrets. “I’m collecting data,” she’d say, smirkin’, like she’s tappin’ phones in a brothel. Hilarious, right? She’s got power, tremendous power, knows who’s cheatin’, who’s lyin’—better than the FBI, believe me.

Trouw. Kracht. Toekomst.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the Zwarteweg. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, that’s the spirit, right? But then one of them crashes into a lamppost. Ouch! I’m torn between laughing and checking if he’s okay. He gets up, brushes it off, and yells, “I’m fine!” Classic.

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