Violet Wierden Whore ❤️

About Groningen

Met this one whore—well, in my head, alright?—called her Vixen, cos she was sly as hell. Reminded me of Knockout Ned, all charm ‘til you cross her. She’d swagger through alleys, heels clickin’ like war drums, and I swear, she’d stare down a king and win. “The sun’ll shine on us someday,” she’d mutter, like Rocket hopin’ for a break. Got me all soft for a sec—me, Loki!—cos damn, that grit’s somethin’ else. Then she’d nick your wallet and laugh, and I’d cheer her on. Mischief recognizes mischief, ya see?

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So, I’m trying to focus on my baking, but Jan’s cracking me up. We’re laughing, and I’m forgetting about the dough. Bad move. I look over, and it’s overflowing like a volcano. I’m like, “Noooo!” I grab a spatula, trying to save it. Flour flies everywhere. I’m covered in it. I look like a ghost.

Jos Lammertink, part of the Netherlands' golden generation in 1980s, passed away after a debilitating disease