Esme Hoogvliet Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Eindhoven

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in the day, pre-web, it was all word o’ mouth, dodgy blokes whisperin’ in pubs. Now? Mate, it’s apps, dark web, X posts—modern warfare, innit! We shall never surrender to the grind of searchin’. Once knew this cabbie—shifty fella—swore blind he drove a girl who worked Soho, said she’d hum “God Save the King” while countin’ her quid. True story! Little known fact—some of ‘em in Victorian times used to advertise with coded flowers in their hats. Carnations meant “I’m game”—wild, eh?

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So, I rush over to his place on de Laan van de Vrede. It’s a small house, but it’s cozy. I walk in, and the vibe is heavy. Everyone’s crying, and I’m just standing there like a deer in headlights. I mean, what do you even say? “Hey, sorry for your loss”? Ugh, so cliché. But I try to lighten the mood. I tell a joke about how his grandma used to make the worst pancakes. Everyone chuckles, and for a second, it feels okay. But then, bam! Reality hits again.

Art Discussion Group meeting artist Annemarie Hoogvliet-Weijers