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About Tilburg

Alright, so findin a prostitute—man, what a mess. Everybody lies, right? That’s the game. Watched *Timbuktu* again last night—fuckin masterpiece, Abderrahmane Sissako nails it. “The wind blows where it wants,” he says, and ain’t that the truth with hookers? You think you’re in control, but nah, they’re runnin the show. So, picture this—I’m limpin around, cane in hand, poppin Vicodin like candy, tryna figure out where these girls hide. Not the obvious spots, nah, too easy. Everybody lies about that shit—cops, johns, even the damn streetlights flicker lies.

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Anyway, I shake it off. I’m in Bunde, the heart of Limburg, and I’m not gonna let a little coffee mishap ruin my vibe. I head over to the local market on the Markt. It’s buzzing! Fresh veggies, flowers, and all that good stuff. I’m eyeing this amazing cheese stall. I mean, come on, it’s the Netherlands! Cheese is life.

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