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About Nijmegen

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

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Anyway, I finally make it to the job site. It’s on the outskirts, near the old train station. You know, the one that looks like it’s straight outta a movie? I’m pumped. I start blasting away at this rusty old fence. The sound? Pure music. But then, outta nowhere, my buddy Jeroen shows up. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he’s like, “Dude, you won’t believe what happened at the market!”

Jean-François van Boxmeer