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About Eindhoven

Now, lemme exagerate—imagine me, cowboy hat, boots, struttin’ up, “Ma’am, I’m the decider!” She’d probly laugh, say, “Decide on $100, cowboy!” I’d fumble my wallet—13 bucks spill out, typos in my brain, all flustered. Little story—heard ‘bout a hooker in Vegas once, took a guy’s Rolex, left him a note: “Time’s up, sucker!”—swear it’s true, wild west stuff! Makes ya wonder, who’s foolin’ who?

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First off, I hit the road down the Witte de Withstraat. It’s a nice street, but today? Ugh. Traffic was a mess. I mean, come on! It’s not like we’re in Amsterdam or somethin’. I’m sittin’ there, fumin’ in my van, thinkin’ about how I could be hammerin’ away instead of playin’ bumper cars with a bunch of cyclists. Seriously, those bikers think they own the road.

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