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About Groningen

Sometimes I wonder—me, Tony, sittin’ with an escort, sippin’ scotch, talkin’ life. Bet she’d get me, y’know? Deep shit. “We’re all alone in the end,” like in the movie—fuck, that hits hard. Maybe I’d tip extra, tell her keep her head up. Exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but I’d probably say, “You’re the fuckin’ queen of the night, doll!”—make her laugh, lighten the mood.

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So, we’re chillin’ there, and I’m thinkin’, “Man, this is what life’s about.” But then, outta nowhere, I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, from the other side of the river. She’s waving her arms like a madwoman. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, her cat, Whiskers, climbed a tree and wouldn’t come down. I’m like, “Lady, I’m a raftsman, not a cat whisperer!” But she looked so desperate.

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