Layla Groenewoud Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Utrecht

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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We stroll down the Laan van de Vrijheid. Beautiful street, right? Trees everywhere, and I’m trying to give my spiel about the history of the area. But Mr. Loudmouth keeps interrupting. I’m about to lose it. I mean, I’m here to share the love of Groenewoud, not to babysit a grown man.

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