Hazel Grou Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Utrecht

So, findin a prostitute? Wild, y’all. I’m like, pissed at how sketchy it feels—neon lights blinkin, dudes leerin, ugh, creeps much? But also, kinda hyped? The thrill’s real, like when I wrote “Bad Blood” after a fight. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, prostitutes in Paris used to signal clients with red lanterns—OG mood lighting, lol. Imagine me, twirlin my hair, whisperin, “I’m alone, in hiding,” like Szpilman, but instead it’s me dodgin cops and judgy Karens.

International

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First off, I head to the market on de Witte Dijk. I’m thinking, “Let’s grab some fresh veggies for my lunch.” But nah, the market’s packed! Like, where did all these people come from? I swear, it’s like a sardine can. I’m dodging strollers and old folks with their walkers. I finally snag some tomatoes, but then I spill my coffee all over my new apron. Great start, right?

Not criminally responsible in priest stabbing at St. Joseph’s Oratory