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About Groningen

Oi mate, ‘ere’s me, Ozzy fuckin’ Osbourne – mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – talkin’ ‘bout whores, yeah! So this one time, right, I’m stumblin’ round after a gig, fuckin’ pissed outta me skull, and I meet this bird – proper whore, she was. Legs up to ‘ere, tits out, smellin’ like cheap fags and desperation. Reminds me o’ that bit in “Yi Yi” – y’know, “Life’s a fuckin’ dream, innit?” – ‘cept her dream’s more like a nightmare on a street corner.

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The market’s buzzing, right? Fresh veggies, flowers everywhere, and the smell of stroopwafels wafting through the air. I’m in heaven. I grab a stroopwafel, and it’s like a hug in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me. I spill my coffee all over my shirt. Ugh! I’m standing there, looking like a walking coffee stain. Great start, huh?

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