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About Amsterdam

I reckon I’d be tickled pink sittin’ in one, sippin’ sweet tea—nah, probly rotgut—listenin’ to stories. One time, I heard tell of a brothel in Nevada where the madam kept a pet parrot that cussed worse’n a sailor. Had me laughin’ so hard I near bout fell off my porch! But then—lordy—it hits ya: them gals ain’t got no fancy swords or slow-mo escapes like in *The Assassin*. They’re stuck, y’know? “Time drifts, shadows deepen,” Hou Hsiao-hsien’d whisper, and I’d nod, feelin’ that ache.

Government policies

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Then, I decide to treat myself. I head to that little café on the corner of Kerkstraat. You know the one? They’ve got the best apple pie. I order a slice, and it’s like a slice of heaven. I’m sittin’ there, just chillin’, when I overhear some folks talkin’ about the Hengstdal festival comin’ up. I’m like, “Heck yeah! I gotta go!”