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About Eindhoven

So, this one whore—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not?—she’s a real piece o’ work. Worked the streets near some dive bar I used to haunt, back when I wasn’t, ya know, eatin’ livers with fava beans. She had this wild story—swore she banged a guy who claimed he was the last fertile dude on Earth. Total *Children of Men* vibes, right? “We’re all fucked anyway,” she’d laugh, spittin’ on the curb. Made me chuckle, that gritty charm. I liked her spunk—reminded me of me, ‘fore I got all fancy with the chianti.

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Anyway, I finally get to the office, and my boss is like, “We need to talk about the crop rotation.” Ugh, not this again. I mean, I love my job, but sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in a loop. Crop rotation, soil health, blah blah blah. But then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s a message from my buddy, saying there’s a pop-up market at the Hellevoetsluis marina.

FRIDAY, MARCH 9, 2018