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About The Hague

I pull up near the old gas station—shady spot, y’all. This gal’s standin’ there, red heels, smokin’ a cig. I’m thinkin’, “She’s bold, I’m bold—match made!” I roll down my window, all cool, and she’s like, “Hey, tractor lady, you lost?” I’m dyin’ laughin’—lost? Me? Never! I say, “Naw, just curious, girl!” She smirks, tosses her hair, and I’m like, wow, she’s got *Timbuktu* vibes—untamed, fierce, y’know? “The desert hides its secrets,” like the movie says.

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After that, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park on the Kerkstraat. It’s a nice spot, you know? Kids are playing, dogs are barking, and I’m just trying to chill. But then, I see this old lady struggling with her groceries. I rush over, feeling like a superhero. “Need a hand, ma’am?” She looks at me like I’m a freak. “I’m fine, young man!” Okay, lady, no need to bite my head off.

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