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Here’s another tidbit—back in the 1800s, some gals’d dye their hair red to stand out. Red light district, get it? This chick’s hair was black as tar, but she had that fire. I’m ramblin now, but point is, findin a prostitute ain’t just point A to point B. It’s a damn adventure—messy, loud, and full o’ curveballs. “You’re livin it, man!” like Russell’d say. And I did—lived it, laughed it, damn near cried it.

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First off, I roll into Bilgaard, and it’s like stepping into a whole new world. The streets are buzzing, people everywhere. I’m used to the quiet of the forest, not this chaos. I parked my truck on the side of the Van der Waalsstraat. Yeah, I know, fancy name for a street, right? But it’s just a regular ol’ road with potholes big enough to swallow a squirrel.