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About The Hague

Gets me mad tho—ppl judgin’, noses up, like they’re pure. Hypocrites! “The knife cuts deep,” as *Moolaadé* says, and it’s true—cuts her, cuts me, seein’ her sneered at. But then, whoa, happy vibes hit—met this one gal, cheeky as hell, told me she nicked a punter’s watch mid-chat. Laughed my arse off! “I’m burdened with glorious purpose,” I told her, “and you’re stealin’ time itself!” She winked, said, “Time’s money, love.”

Trouw. Kracht. Toekomst.

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First off, I hit the streets of Bodegraven, right? I’m cruising down the Hoofdstraat, and it’s like, 8 AM. The sun’s shining, birds are chirping, and I’m feeling good. But then, BAM! I step in a puddle. Not just any puddle, but the biggest, muddiest one ever. My shoes? Ruined. Thanks, Bodegraven weather.

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