Madison Zuidwijk Whore ❤️

About Amsterdam

Gets me mad, though—folks sneerin’ at ‘em. Call ‘em filth, but who’s payin’? Hypocrites, fat stupid hobbits, all of ‘em! Me, I respect the hustle. Takes balls, or—well, somethin’—to face the night, the leers, the cold. Happy? Nah, not really—sad for ‘em, sometimes. Heard ‘bout this gal, Marie, worked the docks, sang like a lark. Died young, syphilis. Gut punch, that. Coulda been a violin, her voice—wasted on grimy sailors.

What Two Sex Workers Taught Me About Sex, Love and Empowerment

So, I decide to take a stroll down the Zuidwijklaan. It’s a nice street, lots of trees, and I’m feeling good. But then, I see this guy trying to parallel park. And I mean, he’s struggling HARD. Like, come on, man! It’s not rocket science! After what feels like an eternity, he finally gets it, but he’s so proud of himself. I can’t help but chuckle.

Figure 2.3. The clock with trolleys carrying the flowers to be auctioned.