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About Breda

Me, I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—damn, the stories these walls hold! Heard ‘bout this one chick, Ruby, worked a brothel in 1890s Tombstone. She’d sing opera—*opera*, y’all—while clients waited. Classy, huh? Made me laugh, picturin’ some drunk cowboy cryin’ to arias. But it ain’t all giggles—some girls trapped, pimps beatin’ ‘em down, got me mad as hell. “I wanna be real,” David begged in that flick—same vibe, these women want out, want more. Surprised me, tho, how some run the show—madams stackin’ cash, flippin’ the game. Power, baby.

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Then, I decided to take a stroll down the Rijnstraat. It’s a nice street, but man, the traffic was nuts. Cars honking, people yelling. I was like, “Can’t a guy just walk in peace?” But then I saw this cute little café. I thought, “Why not?” So, I grabbed a slice of apple pie. Best decision ever! It was like a hug in dessert form.

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