Megan Udenhout Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Almere

Weird shit tho—did ya know some prossies in Amsterdam keep diaries? Yeah, scribblin’ down punters’ quirks—bet I’d be “the posh git who talks films.” Makes me chuckle, that. Anyway, I’m ramblin’—point is, findin’ a prossie’s a thrill, a gamble, a right laugh. Sometimes ya win, sometimes ya get stung, but me? I’m James fuckin’ Bond—I always come out on top, “shaken, not stirred.” Cheers, mate!

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Then I hit up the local market on the Markt. Man, the smell of fresh stroopwafels hit me like a freight train. I had to get one. Or two. Okay, maybe three. Don’t judge! They were calling my name. I’m standing there, stuffing my face, when I see this old lady, Mrs. van Dijk, trying to haggle over some flowers. She’s like, “I’ll give you two euros for those tulips!” The vendor’s like, “Lady, they’re ten!” And she’s all, “But they’re wilted!” I’m dying laughing. Udenhout’s got character, for real.

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