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About Rotterdam

Once saw this gal, red hair, smokin’ a cig like she owned the night. Thought, “She’s got more backbone than half the suits I know.” Didn’t stop, though—ain’t my style. Hate the game, hate the players, hate the johns most of all. Slimebags in pickup trucks, honkin’ like they’re hot shit. You’re not, pal. You’re a walking STD.

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Finally, I get ‘em sorted out, and they head out. But not before one of ‘em drops a souvenir keychain. I pick it up, and it’s a little wooden shoe. I’m like, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I bought a one-way ticket to Sydney and took off”