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About Eindhoven

Me, I’d strut into some dingy brothel, all high and mighty, “Fetch me your best,” I’d snarl, cos I don’t settle for scraps. Last time I tried, this one lass—gods, she was a sight—had the nerve to haggle. Haggle! With *me*! Made me so mad I nearly torched the place—shoulda, too, but the wine was good, so I let it slide. “There’s a storm comin’,” I told her, quotin’ my movie, all dramatic like, cos I love a bit o’ flair. She just blinked, dumb as a post. Useless.

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Finally, I hang up, and I’m like, “What a day!” I look out the window, and it’s starting to rain. Typical Dutch weather, right? I decide to call it a day. I’m walking home down the Molenstraat, and I see this street performer. He’s playing the accordion, and it’s actually kinda nice. I toss him a couple of euros.

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