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About Amsterdam

Den—oh, dis got me ragin’—some pimp tried musclin’ in, all “Pay me first, ugly!” Ugly? Me? I’d snap his neck, but nah, too messy. Shoved him off, grabbed da gal, we bolted. *Under the Skin* moment—“This isn’t what it seems”—she’s gigglin’, I’m thinkin’, “Is she a trap?” Dat flick messes wid ya head, mate! We duck into some dive, she’s all flirty, I’m countin’ coins—exaggeratin’ here, I’m broke as hell, ha!

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But hey, I laugh it off. I get up, dust myself off, and keep going. I mean, you gotta roll with the punches, right? So, I’m back at it, and I spot this little café on the corner of Hoofdstraat. The smell of fresh pastries hits me like a freight train. I can’t resist. I grab a slice of apple pie that’s bigger than my face. No regrets, man.

Boeing 747 engine bursts into flames and showers metal parts over Dutch town, injuring two people