Ella Meerhoven Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Breda

“Move, move!” like Saul’s camp, she struts fast. Tricksy, slippin’ through alleys, dodgin’ the law. Wears red, always red—blood-stain vibes, precious. Stinks of cheap gin, sweat, and lies. Once saw her nick a sailor’s purse—ha! Laughed ‘til me ribs hurt, clever wench. “What do you see?” Saul’d ask, grim-like. I see filth, beauty, mess—whore’s life, yesss. Split me head, tho—hate her, pity her.

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After that meltdown, I needed a break. So, I head over to the park on De Kuil. It’s a nice spot, with trees and a little pond. I sit down, trying to chill, but then I see this kid feeding ducks. And I’m like, “Aww, that’s cute.” But then the ducks start fighting over the bread, and it turns into a full-on duck brawl. I’m cracking up, like, “This is better than reality TV!”

Now it's ‘bustling,’ but 15 years ago, café De Hangar was still in its startup phase: ‘We would play a game of darts ourselves here’