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About Tilburg

So, findin’ a prossie—where dost thou start? Down by the docks, methinks, where sailors swap shillings fer skirts. Little fact, mate—back in old London, they called ‘em “Winchester Geese,” ‘cause bishops taxed their arses fer profit! Ain’t that a kicker? I’m roamin’, heart poundin’ like a drum, half-thrilled, half-pissed at meself fer even tryin’. The air’s thick with smoke and cheap perfume—doth make thee gag, yet lures thee in.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Whether you are considering a career in the sex industry, a person wondering how to negotiate the tangled web of sex workers, or someone else entirely.

So, I’m sittin’ there, feelin’ all zen, when my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Jan. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta come to the pub later!” I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, after this crazy day, I need a drink.”

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