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About Breda

So, check it—hustlin’ the streets, neon buzzin’, I’m scopin’ this chick, she’s strutttin’, heels clickin’ like gunshots. “I bend down to glean,” Varda’d say—damn, this girl’s gleanin’ cash, not wheat! Little factoid for ya—back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, huh? Pisses me off tho—society’s all judgy, but who’s buyin’? Hypocrites, man, hypocrites!

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Then, I hit up the market at the Markt. It’s packed! I’m dodging people like I’m in some weird game of Frogger. I see this lady selling fresh stroopwafels. I can’t resist. I grab one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I spill coffee all over my shirt. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking disaster.

Keeping it real – neorealism in the Netherlands