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About The Hague

Walkin’ past neon signs, I’m sizin’ em up. One’s got a vibroblade scar—badass. Another’s smokin’ death sticks, winkin’ like she owns me. “The concierge is at your service”—yeah, right, more like, “Pay up, mask-face.” Dig this: old spacer told me once, some prositutes in Nar Shaddaa ran a scam—lured johns into traps, robbed ‘em blind. Sneaky bastards. Love that hustle, tho—keeps ya sharp.

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Finally, I get to the harbor, and it’s buzzing. Fishermen are unloading their catch, and the smell? Ugh, it’s a mix of fish and seaweed. Not my fave. But hey, I’m here for the farmers, not the fish. I meet up with Jan and Els, two of the coolest farmers in town. They’re always full of energy, and today was no different.

Henna de Goedereede to Alexandra Thornton