Sophie Maastricht Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Breda

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

Aankondiging

We stop at this little park near the Helpoort. I’m munching on a stroopwafel, and Jan’s cracking jokes. I’m laughing so hard, I almost choke. It’s moments like these that make the craziness worth it.

The rise of service robots