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About The Hague

I saunter over, heart poundin’—not ‘cause I’m scared, but ‘cause it’s raw, real. “How much?” I grunt. She smirks, “Depends, big guy.” Cheeky as hell—love it. Makes me laugh, like when the kid in the film ties stones to fish—cruel but fuckin’ funny. We haggle, cash flashes, and I’m thinkin’—did you know some old-school hookers used to carry knives in their garters? Fact. 1800s shit. Kept ‘em safe from jackasses. Wonder if she’s packin’.

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So, I’m zooming down the street, dodging cyclists like I’m in some kinda video game. Emmermeer is full of ’em! They’re everywhere! I swear, if I had a euro for every bike I saw, I’d be rich. Anyway, I finally get to the lab on De Kade, and guess what? The coffee machine is broken. Ugh! I mean, c’mon! How am I supposed to function without my morning caffeine fix?