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About Eindhoven

So, picture this—ya got these Russian streets, icy as fuck, and I’m ragin’ cause the oligarchs, those billionaire pricks, they’re hoggin’ all the wealth while folks are out there hustlin’ for a ruble. I’m like, “It’s a long road, man, where’s your home?”—straight outta the movie, ya feel me? Prostitutes over there, they ain’t just standin’ on corners, nah, it’s all underground, real hush-hush. Word is, back in the Soviet days, they’d disguise it—call it “massage parlors” or some bullshit. Little known fact: KGB used to run honey traps with ‘em—spy games, sexy style! Ain’t that wild?

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So, I roll into Selwerd, right? First thing I notice is the streets. Like, what’s up with the names? You got the Van der Waalsstraat, and I’m like, who even was that guy? Sounds fancy, but I’m just here for some coffee. I hit up this little café on the corner of the H. de Vriesstraat. Best cappuccino ever! I mean, I’m a sucker for caffeine, but this was next level.

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