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Oh, typo spree—hustle, huslte, fuck, hustle! They out here, no filter, no fakes. “You’re gonna miss me,” Celine sang—ha! They leave marks, man, unforgettable stories. Prostitutes ain’t just bodies, they souls—deep shit. I’m hyped, I’m pissed, I’m feelin’ it! Art’s messy, life’s messy—perfect combo. Peace out, fam, Yeezy spoke!

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the Zwarteweg. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, that’s the spirit, right? But then one of them crashes into a lamppost. Ouch! I’m torn between laughing and checking if he’s okay. He gets up, brushes it off, and yells, “I’m fine!” Classic.

Man dies in crash during ride with motorcycle group, officials say