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About Amsterdam

So, escorts—shoot, they’re like them gleaners, ain’t they? Makin’ somethin’ outta nothin’, turnin’ a dull night into a sparkly one. I reckon they’re part hustler, part angel—dependin’ on who’s payin’, ha! Back in my day, I knew this gal—let’s call her Ruby—down in Nashville. She was an escort, quiet-like, didn’t brag none. Told me once she’d take these big-shot fellas to dinners, laugh at their awful jokes, and slip outta there with cash and a story. Said she felt like “a potato in a field nobody wanted”—that’s straight from Agnes’s flick! Ruby’d glean them lonely souls, give ‘em a shine for a night. Made me happy, thinkin’ she turned scraps into gold.

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So, I hit the streets, right? I’m strolling down the Kerkstraat, and it’s like, what’s up with all these cute houses? They’re all like, “Look at me, I’m adorable!” I’m just trying to find a coffee shop, and I’m already feeling the vibe. The locals are chill, but I swear, they all know each other. I felt like an outsider, like a lost puppy.

Antoine van Bommel Passed Away