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Oi mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister, y’know, the witty Imp— “I drink and I know things.” So, grab a pint, lemme spill bout whores, coz I’ve seen plenty in me days. Whore’s a tricky word, innit? Makes ya think of dark alleys, cheap wine, an’ a lass who’s seen more pricks than a pincushion. Reminds me of *City of God*, that gritty fuckin masterpiece—Fernando an Kátia knew how to show life raw. Like Lil Zé screamin, “I’m the king ‘round here!”—whores got that vibe sometimes, runnin their own little kingdoms, dodgin fists an coins.

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I get to the bakery on De Wierdenseweg, and it’s already a mess. Flour everywhere, like a snowstorm hit. I’m like, “Great, just what I need.” I start mixing dough for my famous Wierdense krentenbollen. You know, those sweet rolls with currants? They’re the bomb! But today, the dough decides to be a diva. It’s too sticky, too wet. I’m sweating like a pig, cursing under my breath.

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