Harper Pijnacker Whore ❤️

About The Hague

Oh, and get this—she’s loud, screamin’ about her ex. “He’s a pig!” she yells. I’m dyin’, laughin’ so hard I spill gin. Reminds me of Béla Tarr’s long-ass shots—endless, messy, real. She’s no angel, dahling, but who is? I’m happy seein’ her own it—whore power! Still, I’m ragin’—why’s she gotta trash my bar with drama? “Calm yer tits!” I wanna scream. But nah, I just pour more booze. She’s a tornado, and I’m swept up.

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Finally, my train arrives. I hop on, and it’s packed. I squeeze into a corner, trying not to touch anyone. You know that awkward train dance? Yeah, I’m doing that. But then, this sweet old lady sits next to me. She starts chatting about her garden in Pijnacker. I’m like, “Wow, lady, you’re living the dream!” She’s got all these flowers and veggies. I’m just trying to keep my eyes open, but she’s so passionate. I can’t help but smile.

Dutch municipalities’ keen interest in geothermal energy use