Samantha Bunde Whore ❤️

About Utrecht

Oh, and the humor—dark as hell. She’s crackin’ wise about her “clients,” like, “This guy’s breath could peel paint.” I’m laughin’, but it’s that nervous laugh, ya know? ‘Cause it’s sad too. Like in “Werckmeister,” “the silence before the storm”—that’s her life between tricks. Quiet. Tense. Fucked up. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, “Man, I’d lose it in her shoes.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d be a terrible hooker—too whiny, too picky. “What, you again? Get lost!”

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So, I’m chatting with this vendor, and he’s super friendly. We’re talking about the best cheese for a good old-fashioned kaasplankje. I’m getting all excited, and then—wait for it—my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “Need that report ASAP!” Ugh, seriously? I’m in Bunde! Can’t a writer enjoy some cheese without work creeping in?

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