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About Amsterdam

Gets me blood pumpin’, though—better than wankin’ to nothin’. Paid a tenner extra for—well, you know, mate. Felt like a king, then boom—guilt hits. “Someone knows,” I reckon, like that film’s fuckin’ tapes droppin’ out nowhere. Angry as hell after—why’s it gotta be so shady? Ports need a bloody manual—‘How to Find a Prostitute Without Losin’ Your Dignity.’ Fat chance!

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So, I head over to the office on De Kuilen. You know, the one with the weird statue of a cow? Yeah, that one. I’m crunching numbers, doing my actuary thing, when suddenly, the fire alarm goes off. Like, what the heck? I’m thinking, “Is this a drill or what?” Turns out, it was just some dude burning his lunch in the break room. Classic. I mean, who even cooks in an office?

Barde vanVoltt creates retail store interiors like a Japanese zen garden in Nistelrode