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About Tilburg

Anyway, prostitutes—they’re a mixed bag, innit? Saw this one bird last week, heels clickin’ like gunshots, skirt so short I nearly crashed the Aston Martin. Proper stunner, but her eyes? Dead as a doornail, mate. Made me gut twist—angry, yeah, cos who fucked her life up that bad? Some pimp prick, probly. “Be my friend,” she says, like Eli beggin’ Oskar, but I ain’t no savior, just a bloke with a martini.

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I’m like, “Forget this meeting!” I sneak out, and man, the market is buzzing! Fresh veggies, local cheeses, and oh, the stroopwafels! I grab one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m standing there, just enjoying life, when I bump into an old friend from school. We start chatting, and it’s all laughs.

The fascinating story behind Devon's strangest road name