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About Amsterdam

Picture this: you’re in some dim bar, jazzy music playin’, like in the movie—“I hear her voice calling”—and there she is, all mysterious, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s Maggie Cheung. You’re nervous, sweatin’ bullets, thinkin’, “Am I cool enough for this?” Pro tip: cash only, no cards—don’t be that idiot leavin’ a paper trail. And don’t haggle like a cheapskate—pisses me off when dudes do that. Have some class, ya dope! I mean, “The air is full of madness,” right? That’s the thrill—danger, secrets, the whole shebang.

Prostitution:

Walking down de Hoogeweg, I notice the flowers blooming. Spring is finally here! But then I see this dude on a bike, totally swerving like he’s in a race. Almost takes me out! I’m like, “Yo, man! This ain’t the Tour de France!” He just laughs and keeps going. Classic Opheusden, right?

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