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About Amsterdam

So, I stumble into this grimy port town—thinkin’, “This is my shot, baby!” Bars are loud, lights flicker, and I spot her—red heels, smokey eyes, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns it. My heart’s racin’, “Is this it? Am I *in*?” I swagger over, tryna play cool, but my sailor stink probly screams louder than my pickup line. “Hey, sugar, wanna make my night less ‘sea’-sick?” She smirks—oh, that smirk!—and I’m hooked. “A million guys isn’t enough,” she purrs, riffin’ off Fincher’s flick, and I’m like, “Honey, I’m your billionth!”

Know the Signs

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So, I’m trying to keep a straight face while she’s going on about how Mr. Whiskers is now the “fanciest cat in Opmeer.” I mean, come on! I’m a furrier, not a cat stylist! But hey, I’m not one to turn down a good laugh. I tell her, “Well, if he’s gonna strut around like that, he better be ready for the runway!” She cracks up, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe this day won’t be so bad.”

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