Gabriella Klundert Whore ❤️

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Alright, mate, lemme spill bout whore – pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars.” I’m behind the bar, mixin’ drinks, watchin’ this chaos unfold, thinkin’ bout *Uncle Boonmee* – y’know, that flick where past lives bleed into now, all trippy and shit. Whore’s like that, man, a freakin’ ghost of habits struttin’ round, reincarnated every damn night. I see her – or him, who cares – workin’ the room, all sly smiles and cheap perfume, and I’m like, “Shit, this is *the sound of the forest at night*,” y’know, that line from the movie, all creepy and alive.

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First stop, the Markt. I grab my usual coffee from that little café, De Klok. You know, the one with the weirdly friendly barista? She’s always got a smile, but today, she looked like she’d seen a ghost. I’m like, “Yo, what’s up?” She just shrugs and hands me my coffee. I take a sip, and it’s like liquid gold. But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my partner, Jan. “We got a situation,” he says. Great, just what I needed.

Parties square off in library debate