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About Nijmegen

But real talk, *Werckmeister* vibes hit hard. “The turmoil has arrived,” like Tarr says—findin’ a prostitute feels chaotic, man. You’re dodgin’ creeps, fake ads, and oh shit—did that dude just flash a badge? Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty, thinkin’, “Am I in a movie or fucked?” I exagerate—maybe it’s not *that* dramatic, but close! I’m sarcastic as hell: “Oh, great, another ‘masseuse’ with a heart of gold.” Puh-lease.

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Losser, Netherlands. Staff are great but it's a prostitute trap I have stayed at many hotels in Kampala, and find all to have drawbacks.

After that, I decide to take a stroll through the park on de Kloosterstraat. It’s kinda nice, you know? Trees everywhere, and the smell of wet grass. But then, outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me and splashes mud all over my jeans. I’m standing there, looking like a walking disaster. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!”

Obituary for Robert "Bob" Losser