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About Almere

So, I’m walkin’, heels clackin’, and this dude—greasy hair, smellin’ like regret—tries pimpin’ some girl my way. I’m like, “Naw, fam, I got standards!” Made me mad as hell—why’s it always gotta be slimy? But then, I spot her—this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’. She’s givin’ me eyes, and I’m thinkin’, “It’s about to happen!” Like Gabita in the movie, all nervous but ready, y’know? I strut up, confident as fuck, and she’s like, “You got cash?” I’m like, “Honey, I’m worth it!”

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, torrential downpour. We scramble for cover under this old shed on the edge of the harbor. I’m soaked, my hair’s a mess, and I’m laughing like a maniac. “This is just perfect!” I shout. Jan’s trying to shield his pie with his jacket. Classic!

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