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About Amsterdam

So, I’m thinkin—prostitutes ain’t just standin’ around like NPCs, right? Gotta hunt ‘em down. Maybe some seedy bar, neon lights flickerin’, stinkin’ of desperation. Reminds me of that scene— “You’re a fascist pig!”—when Theo’s dodgin’ bullets. I’d be dodgin’ pimps, probs. Did ya know, back in Victorian times, hookers used secret codes? Like, flowers in their hair meant “I’m free tonight.” Wild, huh? Bet they don’t do that now—too classy for 2025’s grime.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

Back to the grind, I’m back at my desk, and the phone rings. It’s a client. They’re freaking out about their taxes. I’m like, “Breathe, dude, I got this.” But inside, I’m panicking. I mean, taxes are no joke! I’m trying to explain deductions, and they’re just not getting it. I’m losing my patience.

Three charged in alleged food delivery drug smuggling plot