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About The Hague

Personal quirk? I’m hummin’ “Hold On, We’re Going Home” while negotiatin’. Weird flex, but it calms me. Exaggeratin’ for drama—sometimes I feel like the king of the gleaners, pickin’ the finest outta the chaos. YOLO, right? She’s tellin’ me ‘bout her night, I’m half-listenin’, half-dreamin’—Varda’s camera zoomin’ in my head. “The gleaners live on leftovers,” she’d say. That’s us, fam, me and her, vibin’ on scraps of the night.

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But then, she smiles. “Coming right up!” I’m thinkin’, “Okay, Borne, you’re not so bad.” I sit outside, sippin’ my latte, watchin’ the world go by. There’s this couple on bikes, and they’re just cruisin’ down the street. I’m jealous. I wanna ride a bike, but I’m stuck with this massive machine.

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