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Then there’s the vibe, man. She’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall—like a vampire waitin’ for prey. Straight outta that movie, “I must be gone,” I mutter, half-jokin’. She didn’t get it—too young, prob’ly. Made me happy, tho—felt clever as hell. But the stench? Goddamn, that alley—rotten trash and broken dreams. Nearly puked, ruined the mood. Why’s it always gotta be so nasty? Angry rant in my head: *Clean your damn spot, lady!*

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First off, I’m running late. Classic me. I sprint down the Kerkweg, dodging cyclists like I’m in some sort of Olympic event. I mean, who knew Breukelen had so many bikes? I swear, I almost got taken out by a dude in spandex. Like, chill, man! It’s not a race!

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