Hazel Dronten Whore ❤️❤️

About Rotterdam

Met this one gal—Daisy, she called herself—worked the docks in ‘44. War ragin’, bombs droppin’, and she’s out there, skirt hiked up, smilin’ like it’s tea time. Gutsy as hell—made me happy, that grit! Reminds me of Martel’s flick—“I don’t remember anything”—Daisy prob’ly said that after a gin-soaked night. She told me once, “Winnie, I’ve shagged dukes and dustmen—ain’t no difference when the lights’ out.” Laughed my arse off—truth in that, eh?

Brødsmulesti

So, I grab my drink and head to the market on the Markt. It’s buzzing, people everywhere. I’m dodging strollers and old folks like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. I spot this vendor selling fresh stroopwafels. I can’t resist. I buy one, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs into me, and my stroopwafel goes flying! I’m standing there, mouth agape, watching it land on the ground like it’s in slow-mo. I’m like, “Nooooo!”

No trains between Lelystad and Dronten until Sept. 15