Julia Hoofddorp Prostitute ❤️

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Alright, mate, so here’s the deal—prostitute, yeah? I’m a moel, cuttin’ flesh for a livin’, and lemme tell ya, I’ve seen some shit. Prostitutes, they’re like ghosts wanderin’ the streets, y’know? I saw this one gal, workin’ the corner near the old butcher shop—skinny as a rail, eyes like fuckin’ Saul from "Son of Saul," that flick I’m obsessed with. “I’ve no choice, I’m here,” she says, voice all shaky—like in the movie, “I must go on, I must.” Made me think, damn, she’s trapped, just like Saul in them death camps.

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Finally, the train rolls in. I hop on, and it’s packed. I squeeze in next to this lady who’s blasting her music. I mean, c’mon! I’m trying to vibe here, not join a concert. I’m thinking, “Why can’t people just use headphones?” But whatever, I’m just trying to get to the city.

De Burgemeester office with an angular wooden staircase by Studioninedots