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About Eindhoven

But here’s the kicker—sometimes it goes south. *Requiem* style, “It’s not the same!”—you think you’re gettin’ a deal, then bam, she’s ghostin’ with your cash. Happened to a buddy once—dumbass left his wallet out, greed blinded him. I laughed my ass off, told him, “You’re no Gekko, kid!” Still pisses me off when guys get sloppy like that—ruins the game for the rest of us.

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Prostitutes in shop windows, drive-through brothels, and cannabis in coffeehouses--such are the wonders that attract mobs of yobs to the Netherlands.

First off, I step outta my little workshop on de Hoofdstraat, and boom! I trip over a freakin’ cobblestone. Like, who even put these here? I swear they’re out to get me. Anyway, I’m limping along, cursing the stones, when I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, struggling with her shopping bags. I’m like, “Yo, let me help ya!” She’s all grateful and stuff, but then she starts talking about her cat, Momo. I’m like, “Cool, but I gotta get to work.”

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