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About Amsterdam

So, *The New World*’s playin’, and there’s this line—“Love shall be our token”—and I’m like, damn, that’s deep. But love ain’t payin’ their bills, is it? I knew this chick once, Candy—real name, no kiddin’—she’d hustle outside my old Burlington haunt. Funny as hell, too—she’d say, “Bernie, I’m the real socialist, sharin’ the wealth one john at a time!” Cracked me up, man, but it broke my heart, too. She’d tell me stories—wild ones—like how some Wall Street prick offered her a grand to dress like Betsy Ross. Freaky shit, I tell ya!

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Finally, my train arrives. I hop on, and it’s packed. I squeeze into a corner, trying not to touch anyone. You know that awkward train dance? Yeah, I’m doing that. But then, this sweet old lady sits next to me. She starts chatting about her garden in Pijnacker. I’m like, “Wow, lady, you’re living the dream!” She’s got all these flowers and veggies. I’m just trying to keep my eyes open, but she’s so passionate. I can’t help but smile.

Dutch municipalities’ keen interest in geothermal energy use