Vanessa Abcoude Whore ❤️

About Eindhoven

So, I’m Mr. Bean, right, *wiggles eyebrows, knocks over a mug*—oops!—and I see whore different, y’know? Not just some tart or slag, nah, it’s history, it’s grit! Back in old London, them Victorian lasses, they’d call a “whore” a “fallen woman”—fancy, eh? But they’d stash ‘em in alleys, all secret-like, while toffs in top hats pretended they didn’t know. Hypocrites, mate! Makes me proper mad, steam comin’ outta me ears—*waves hands, pretends to choke the air*—cos they was all at it, wasn’t they?

Pizzeria on Wheels

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But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain. Like, really rain. I was like, “Come on, Abcoude! Give me a break!” I ducked into a shop on the corner of the Dorpsstraat. It was a quirky little place, full of antiques. I found this old clock that was ticking away. I thought, “This is a metaphor for life, right?” Time keeps ticking, even when you’re soaked.

Cows