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We talk price—quick, dirty negotiation. She’s cool, but I’m still salty bout the cash. “Ten bucks more? For real?” I grumble. She shrugs, “Take it or leave it.” YOLO, I’m in too deep now. Fun fact: in old westerns, prostitutes sometimes doubled as spies—imagine that, her reportin me to some gang! I’m laughin inside, paranoid as Jesse gettin stalked by Ford. “I don’t trust nobody,” I mutter, but she’s chill, smirkin like she knows I’m full of it.

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Next time you find yourself in the bar or lobby of the Hazelton or Four Seasons, keep an eye out for them. They depict a young woman, face obscured, lithe body in a leopard print cami with.

Then, I decide to check out the local shops on the Kerkstraat. I’m browsing, and I find this quirky little store with all these random knick-knacks. I see a tiny wooden shoe and think, “This is perfect for my collection!” But when I go to pay, my card gets declined. Ugh! I’m like, “C’mon, not today!” The cashier gives me this look, and I’m just standing there, awkwardly.

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