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About Nijmegen

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

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So, I’m walking back home, and I pass by the old church on De Kerkstraat. It’s beautiful, but it’s also kinda creepy. I swear I heard a ghost or something. I’m not even joking! I’m like, “Nope, not today!” and I speed walk past it.

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