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About Amsterdam

Ya wanna know the best part? The hunt—trackin’ ‘em, feelin’ that pulse. Makes me happy, giddy even—like a kid with a new toy. But the stench—cologne and desperation—fuckin’ chokes ya sometimes. Worse than a morgue. Still, I’d do it again—maybe tonight. “A census taker once tried to test me,” but a prossie? She knows the game, plays it dirty. That’s my style—grubby, messy, fuckin’ glorious. Whaddya say, pal—wanna join the feast?

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By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. My feet hurt, my clothes are still damp, and I’m just done. But then I remember that dude from earlier. I grab my phone, and I text him, “Hey, come by tomorrow. I’ll fix your stove.”

TBT, 2006: Novak Djokovic wins first career ATP title in Amersfoort