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About Tilburg

We slip into an alley—dark, damp, pure *Mulholland* vibes. “This is the girl,” I think again, head spinnin’—wine or lust, who knows? She’s quick, efficient—prolly done this a hundred times. Me? I’m imaginin’ I’m Justin Theroux, all broody and lost, fuckin’ a stranger while the world unravels. “What’s my name?” I laugh again—stupid question, she don’t care. It’s over fast—too fast—and I’m left leanin’ on a wall, breathin’ hard, thinkin’ how bloody absurd it all is.

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So, I roll into Doornsteeg, and the first thing that hits me is the vibe. It’s chill, but there’s this energy buzzing. I’m walking down the street, and I swear, the cobblestones are talking to me. “Hey, dude, welcome!” they say. I’m like, “Thanks, cobblestones, I needed that.”