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About Rotterdam

But here’s the kicker—makes me mad as a bag o’ ferrets! Some blokes treated these gals like dirt, tossin’ shillings like they’re feedin’ ducks. Pissed me right off! I’m all about the luv, yeah? Treat ‘em groovy, that’s my motto. Babs, tho, she’s cool—she’s got stories, man. Says she once nicked a toff’s wallet mid-shag, spent it all on fish n’ chips. Laughed my bloody arse off—proper cheeky! Surprised me, too—didn’t think a prossie’d be that quick on the draw. “Sins stay hidden,” Haneke’d whisper, but Babs? She’s loud n’ proud, baby!

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First off, I grab my guitar, of course. Can’t start a day without strummin’ a few chords. I’m sittin’ on my balcony on de Kuilen, just jammin’ away, when I hear this loud honkin’. I look down, and it’s some dude in a van, yellin’ about a lost cat. Like, bro, I’m tryin’ to vibe here! But I can’t help but laugh. Only in Haelen, right?

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