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About Utrecht

I saunter up, all charm, “shaken, not stirred,” voice smooth as silk. She’s givin me the eye—prolly thinks I’m loaded, which, fair, I look it. “How much, love?” I ask, casual, but inside I’m buzzin—happy as a pig in shit. She names a price, I’m like, “fuckin steep, that!”—but I play it cool, cos Bond don’t haggle like a twat. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got windows for this—legal, tidy, no messin about. Here? It’s a gamble, mate—cops, pimps, the lot.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, and my phone’s blowin’ up. My buddy Joris texts me, “Dude, meet me at De Korenmolen!” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” I grab my tools, head out, and boom! It’s raining cats and dogs. Typical Dutch weather, right?

Alan Kragt Obituary January 23, 2014