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About Rotterdam

I’m picturin’ it now—me, Bernie, stormin’ in, yellin’, “Mediocre!” like Max callin’ out bullshit. Tellin’ ‘em, “You deserve better, dammit!” ‘Cause here’s the kicker: some workers love it—freedom, cash, power—others? Trapped, coerced, broken. That duality? Messes with my head, man. I’m all emotional—happy for the empowered ones, furious for the rest. Reminds me of Nux, y’know? “I live, I die, I live again!”—that’s their vibe, fightin’ to exist.

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I woke up this mornin’ in my tiny apartment on de Witteweg. You know, the one with the creaky floors and that weird smell? Yeah, that one. I was sippin’ my coffee, tryin’ to wake up, when my phone buzzed. It was my partner, Jan. “Get your butt to the station, NOW!” he texts. Great, just great. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet.

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