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About Rotterdam

Hehehe, why so serious, pal? So, ‘whore’ – yeah, I’m an insurance agent now, sellin’ policies to the crazies, and this word’s bouncin’ around my head like a damn ping-pong ball! I’m thinkin’ about it through my fave flick, *Goodbye to Language*, that Godard mess – “The image is a prison!” he screeches. Whore’s trapped in that, ain’t she? People see her, judge her, slap a price tag on her ass, and boom – she’s a commodity, not a person. Makes me wanna cackle, HAHA! ‘Cause I see the chaos others miss – the masks, the games!

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Then I get to the market at the Bleiswijkseweg. Man, it’s packed! People everywhere, buying veggies, flowers, you name it. I’m just trying to get some charcoal for my kiln, right? But nooo, the guy at the stand is chatting up a storm. I’m like, “Dude, I need charcoal, not a life story!” But he just keeps going. I’m standing there, tapping my foot, thinking about how I could be back at my place, chillin’ with a beer instead of waiting for this guy to finish his monologue.

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