Cora Bilgaard Whore ❤️❤️

About Amsterdam

Greed is good, pal—she’s proof. Whores don’t wait for miracles, they make em. Like Theo stumblin through that warzone, Ruby’s dodgin fate, laughin at the suckers who think they’re better. Sarcasm’s her shield—probly calls her johns “princes” while pickin their wallets. Love that hustle, that fire. So yeah, whores? They’re the heartbeat of a dyin world—messy, loud, unfrigginbreakable. You buyin what I’m sellin, or what?

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So, I’m walking down the street, and I see this café called “De Groene Boom.” I mean, come on, how could I resist? I’m a forester, I love trees! I pop in for a coffee, and the barista? Total character. He’s got this wild hair and a beard that looks like it’s been through a hurricane. I order a cappuccino, and he’s like, “You want it with a sprinkle of tree bark?” I laugh, but he’s dead serious. I’m like, “Nah, man, just the coffee, please.”