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About Amsterdam

Still, it’s heavy. You see ‘em out there, eyes hollow like Marion’s, and you think, “How’d it get this bad?” Gets me riled up—folks deserve better than sellin’ themselves for a hit. But you? You’re the john, rollin’ up, thinkin’ you’re king. How’s that workin’ for ya, huh? Bet it feels good till it don’t. Like Harry screamin’, “I’m somebody now!”—yeah, till the crash.

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So, I’m tryin’ to ignore them, right? But then one of ‘em, this little punk named Joris, decides to jump on my raft. I’m like, “Dude, what are you doin’? This ain’t a playground!” But he just laughs and starts rockin’ the boat. I was ready to toss him in the water! But then, he looks up at me with those big ol’ eyes, and I just couldn’t. I mean, how do you say no to that?

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