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About Breda

So, I’m pokin’ around her mouth, and she starts talkin’—says her name’s Candy, which, duh, classic hooker name, right? I’m like, “Candy, darlin’, them teeth ain’t sweet!” She laughs, this raspy giggle, and I’m hooked—happy as a pig in mud. Reminds me of *The White Ribbon*, that creepy-ass movie I love. You know that line, “It’s a sign of guilt”? Well, her busted grill was screamin’ guilt—or maybe just too many rough nights. Haneke’d have a field day with her story, all dark and twisted.

Nieuwsbrief

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So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I keep walking. I hit up the Pijnacker-Nootdorp train station. I’m waiting for my train to The Hague. I’m scrolling through my phone, and then I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some dude is arguing with the ticket machine. Like, bro, it’s just a machine! Chill out! But he’s going off, yelling at it like it’s a person. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who argues with a ticket machine?

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