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About Amsterdam

Gollum likes it rough—hiss—rubbing knots out, ouch! Once got a masseuse, hands like vices—thought she’d snap me spine! Laughed, tho—called her “Sarge,” like flick! “Hang on, we’re going home,” I mumbled—felt like a mission done. Exaggerate? Sure, felt like she massaged me soul out—poof! Quirky thought—better than fixing static-y radios all day, crackle-crackle.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and I’m already late. Classic me. I rush down the Laan van de Kruideniers, dodging cyclists like I’m in some kinda video game. I swear, these bikers are like ninjas. One minute they’re there, the next—poof! Gone. Anyway, I finally make it to my shop on de Korte Kerkstraat. It’s a cozy little place, but man, it’s a mess. Fur everywhere! I’m talkin’ like a furry explosion.