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About Tilburg

So, real talk—where do you even start? Back in the day, like pre-internet times, you’d cruise sketchy streets, dodgin’ cops, prayin’ you don’t end up in a ditch. Fun fact: in old-school NYC, the meatpacking district—yeah, where all the fancy boutiques are now—used to be hooker central. Blows my mind! Now? It’s all digital, baby—apps, sites, coded ads. You’re scrollin’, thinkin’, “Is this legit or am I about to get catfished by some dude named Gary?” Makes me wanna scream—half the time I’m pissed at how shady it gets, half the time I’m laughin’ at the absurdity.

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So, I grab my drink and head to the market on the Markt. It’s buzzing, people everywhere. I’m dodging strollers and old folks like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I spot this vendor selling fresh stroopwafels. I can’t resist. I buy one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me, and my stroopwafel goes flying! I’m standing there, mouth agape, watching it land on the ground like it’s in slow-mo. I’m like, “Nooooo!”

Dad dying was worst that can happen to a kid... but now I know I can handle anything HAKIM ZIYECH