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About Amsterdam

Hey, folks, listen up—here’s the deal. I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute, y’know, like in “Lost in Translation.” That movie—man, it gets me. Bob Harris, he’s all lost, driftin’ in Tokyo, and I’m like, “C’mon, man, I feel ya.” So, picture this—me, ol’ Joe, walkin’ down some neon-lit street, lookin’ for a gal, but not just any gal, right? I ain’t talkin’ fancy schmancy escorts—nah, I mean real, gritty, street-level stuff.

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Where can I get help if I am being forced to work as a prostitute? As a witness, how can I report forced prostitution?

So, I’m strolling down the Korte Hoogstraat, just minding my own business, when I bump into this old dude. He’s crying, like full-on sobbing. I’m like, “Yo, what’s up?” Turns out, he lost his cat. A cat! I mean, I get it, pets are family, but c’mon, it’s a cat. But then he shows me a pic, and man, that cat was adorable! I felt for him, ya know? So, I helped him put up some flyers. We hit up the local shops on the Hoofdweg. I even got a free coffee from the barista at ‘t Koffiehuis. Sweet deal, right?

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