Elizabeth Eibergen Whore ❤️

About Tilburg

So yeah, whores—bloody brilliant, tragic, messy, like me speeches. “We mustn’t lose our way!”—that’s me, shoutin’ at meself, tryna figure ‘em out. Love ‘em, hate the hate they get—proper *omnia vincit amor*, innit? Next time you see one, mate, tip your hat—unsung heroes, they are, swear down. Now, where’s me tea? Buggered if I know!

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Now I’m soaked, coffee-stained, and my phone’s probably toast. I’m about to lose it when I spot this little shop on the corner of the Langestraat. It’s got hunting gear! I’m like, “Finally, something good!” I walk in, and the owner, an old guy named Willem, starts chatting me up. He’s got stories, man. Like, he once hunted a deer that was bigger than my truck. I’m like, “Sure, buddy.” But he’s got this twinkle in his eye, and I can’t help but believe him.

2011 Dairy Intern: Connie Eibergen