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So I’m watchin’ her, and she’s got this smirk—like she’s sayin’, “What’s an old coot like you doin’ here?” And I’m happy, ‘cause damn, she’s got guts! Takes guts to stand there, facin’ the world, while billionaires sip champagne on yachts! “The invisible people,” Jep’d call ‘em—folks we walk past, ignorin’. That hits me hard. Surprised me too—didn’t expect to feel all mushy bout it. But then I’m mad again—why’s she gotta do this? Why ain’t there a system liftin’ her up?

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So, I’m cleaning up my mess, and I spot this old dude sitting on a bench. He’s got this wild beard and a hat that looks like it’s been through a war. I’m thinking, “This guy’s seen some stuff.” So, I go over and start chatting with him. Turns out, he’s lived in Bleiswijk his whole life. He tells me stories about the old days, when the streets were dirt and the canals were full of fish. I’m just sitting there, listening, and it’s like I’m transported back in time.

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