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About Almere

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Then I decide to stroll down to the park. You know, the one by the Molenbeek? It’s usually peaceful, but today? Nah. There’s a bunch of kids playing soccer, and they’re LOUD. I mean, I love kids, but c’mon! I’m trying to relax here! One kid kicks the ball, and it rolls right to me. I’m like, “Great, now I’m a goalie?” So, I kick it back, and it goes straight into a bush. Classic me, right?

US tragedy to resonate with Adelaide audiences