Luna Utrecht Whore ❤️

About The Hague

Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

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First stop, I hit up my fave café, the ‘Koffie Leute’ on the Neude. Grabbed a cappuccino that was basically a hug in a mug. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my partner, Jan. “We got a situation,” he says. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s been a robbery at the Dom Tower. Seriously? Who robs a church tower?

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