Mari Matenveld Whore ❤️❤️

About Almere

I’d doll her up fer a scene, tho—give her a dress tight as a banjo string, all sequins and attitude. She’d strut in, hollerin’, “I’m here, y’all, deal with it!” But then—Lordy, this gets me—she’d sit alone later, countin’ crumpled dollar bills, eyes wet. Surprised me how soft she could be under all that noise. Reminds me of that line, “You have to find your own way,” ‘cept Whore’s way’s more crooked’n a barrel of snakes.

Stories from the sex trade

Then, I decided to grab a quick bite at that little café on de Markt. You know, the one with the weirdly shaped pastries? I ordered a “Matenveld Special” or whatever. It was supposed to be a croissant, but it looked more like a sad pancake. I mean, come on! I was expecting flaky goodness, not a breakfast tragedy.