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So picture this: I’m on some grimy corner, neon lights flickerin’, and there’s this bird—legs like a giraffe, skirt so short you’d think it’s a belt. I’m like, “Blimey, you’re a walkin’ health hazard!” She’d probably clock me one, but I’d deserve it. Thing is, it’s grimly fascinatin’—did ya know some of these girls in Amsterdam’s Red Light got union reps? Yeah, proper workers’ rights for shaggin’! Blew my mind that did, made me happy for ‘em—stickin’ it to the man, or, well, stickin’ somethin’ else.

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Traffickers like to use hotels to ply their trade, since they can get in and make some money and then move on before they attract too much attention.

I plop down on the sand, and I’m just soaking it all in. The salty air, the sound of the waves, and then—BAM! A kid runs past me, kicking sand everywhere. I’m covered in it! I’m like, “Really, kid? You think this is a sandstorm?” But I can’t help but laugh. Kids are wild.

Judy Sines Obituary (2024) - Westminster, MD - Carroll County Times