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About Rotterdam

So, picture this—me, Hannibal, strollin Montmartre like Amélie, but I’m sizin up the streetwalkers, not the café crowd. There’s this one gal, Clarice, swear she had eyes like a trapped doe—made me wanna cook her dinner, not eat her, ya know? Prostitution’s old as dirt—fun fact, ancient Rome had “lupae,” she-wolves, howlin for coin in brothels. Wild, right? Gets me all tingly thinkin bout the history mixin with the filth. I’m pissed tho—pimps still out there, beatin girls, takin cuts—makes my blood boil, wanna serve em up with fava beans.

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First off, I hit the streets around 9 AM. The sun was shining, and I thought, “Hey, maybe I’ll grab a coffee at that cute little café on de Veldstraat.” You know the one? The one with the weirdly shaped pastries? Yeah, that place. So I stroll in, and guess what? They’re outta coffee! Like, how do you run outta coffee in the morning? I was ready to throw a fit.

Car break-ins doubled in seven cities; Amsterdam total is the highest