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About The Hague

Thou’d think it’s all grim, but nay—she’d wink at me, call me “petal,” say I’m too soft for this world. Got me chuffed, that did, ‘til she’d nick me last farthing for a giggle. Cheeky mare! Still, surprised me how she’d hum tunes—old hymns, mind—while waitin’ for the next punter. “One shot, one kill,” she’d mutter, like pickin’ her marks was a sniper’s game. Made me laugh, tho’ it’s dark as pitch, innit?

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Then, outta nowhere, my buddy Jeroen pops in. He’s like, “Dude, chill! Let’s grab a snack at the Markt.” I’m like, “Are you kidding? I can’t! I’m drowning in paperwork!” But he drags me out anyway. We hit up this food truck selling the best frikandel ever. I mean, it’s like a party in my mouth. I’m munching away, and suddenly, I’m happy again.

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