Fatima Klundert Whore ❤️❤️

About Utrecht

Rewind a sec—I’m chattin’ to you, my pal, over a pint, yeah? Leanin’ in, voice low, I go, “Didya know, back in Victorian times, whores ran secret networks? Traded gossip like spies, dodgin’ coppers!” Little factoid there—wild, eh? Surprised me silly when I stumbled on it. Love that sneaky grit. Reminds me of Solomon again—“I will not fall into despair!”—whores got that spirit, scrappin’ to survive.

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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.

"Fewer Indian grapes, more Chilean grapes for the European market"