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About Utrecht

Sketchy streets, I roam—anger boils, man, at the pimps. Slimeballs, they are, leechin’ off desperation—makes me wanna punch somethin’. Little fact, though—did ya know, oldest gig ever, prostitution is? Babylon, 2400 BC, temple gals—sacred hookin’, wild, huh? History’s kinky, yo. “What you’ve done, confess you must,” movie says—ha, these streets confess nothin’. Stink of sweat, cheap perfume—real as my ink-stained fingers.

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First off, I head down to the Kerkstraat. You know, the main drag. I’m just minding my own business, thinking about my sermon for Sunday. Then BAM! I see this old lady, Mrs. Jansen, struggling with her groceries. I rush over, all clumsy-like, and help her out. She’s like, “Oh, thank you, dear!” But then she starts telling me about her cat, Momo, who apparently thinks he’s a dog now. I’m standing there, nodding, but inside I’m like, “Momo? Really?”

Coldest April in 35 years brought a mix of sun, snow, hail and frost