Sarah Reeuwijk Brothel ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Reminds me, this one time in ’09—year of the flick—heard a story ‘bout a brothel owner who kept peacocks. Freakin’ peacocks! Struttin’ around like they owned the place. Made me happy for a sec—birds got more dignity than the clients. “No one listens to me!”—Larry’d say that, starin’ at a peacock while some gal counts his cash. Exaggeratin’ here, but I’d burn the place down before payin’. Little known fact: old-timey brothels had secret tunnels—escape routes for cheatin’ husbands. Sneaky bastards.

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Then I hit up the local market on the Kerkweg. Man, the vibe there is always lit. Fresh veggies, flowers, and the smell of stroopwafels wafting through the air. I’m like, “Yes, please!” But then, I see this old lady trying to haggle over a cucumber. Like, lady, it’s a cucumber, not a diamond! I couldn’t help but chuckle.

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