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About Nijmegen

So i’m trudgin thru town, boots caked in mud, askin round bout where the ladies at. Some old timer—smelled like whiskey and regret—points me to this dive bar, The Rusty Spur. “All that is human can sink…”—that’s the vibe there, straight outta the movie. Dark, smoky, eyes followin me like i’m prey. I spot her—red lipstick, skirt shorter than a miner’s fuse. She’s workin the room, all sly smiles and sharp glances. I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin—business or pleasure?” She laughs, says, “Both, if ya got coin.” Got me chucklin—girl’s got sass, i respect that.

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First thing, I spill flour everywhere. Like, seriously, it’s a snowstorm in my kitchen. I’m tryna be all chef-like, but I’m just a hot mess. I mean, who knew flour could fly like that? I’m sneezing, cursing, and laughing at myself. Classic me.

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