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About Nijmegen

So, picture this—I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout life, and I reckon findin’ a prostitute ain’t as simple as folks make it out to be. Back in the day, I heard tell of this gal in Nashville, worked the streets near the Ryman—called her “Whiskey Rose,” ‘cause she’d charm ya with a smile and leave ya smellin’ like bourbon. Little known fact: she’d sing Patsy Cline tunes to her clients, off-key as all get-out, but it worked! Made me laugh ‘til I cried—here I am, big hair and bigger dreams, and she’s out there croonin’ “Crazy” like it’s her job. Well, I guess it kinda was!

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Usually when they ask you for money for sex. Ask about her buffalo. if she says it's sick, you might want to reconsider your options. they tell you right away lol.

Anyway, I finish my coffee and head to the market at the Markt. It’s bustling, people everywhere. I’m tryin’ to sell some wool, right? But these folks are more interested in the cheese stalls. I mean, I get it, Dutch cheese is bomb, but c’mon! My wool’s got character!

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