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About Groningen

I’m typin’ fast, prolly messin’ up evrywhere—don’t care! Imagine me stompin’ through the woods, all “I’m a forester, dammit!” but secretly wonderin’—could I find one out here? Ha! Probs not—too many trees, not enough sequins. Still, I’d be all, “El tango de Roxanne!”—dancin’ with a pine, mad as hell at the world.

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Go through the many galleries to see classy ladies crapping their cute panties, go down and dirty and fuck hardcore while being covered in shit, or masturbate and ride dicks until they explode Missing: Bodegraven.

Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the Zwarteweg. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, that’s the spirit, right? But then one of them crashes into a lamppost. Ouch! I’m torn between laughing and checking if he’s okay. He gets up, brushes it off, and yells, “I’m fine!” Classic.

Hannah would go into mission work, but died on a holiday