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About Nijmegen

So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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Then, I hit up the local pub, De Zwarte Ruiter. Needed a cold one after that embarrassment. I sit down, and the bartender, a cool dude named Jan, pours me a beer. We start chattin’, and he tells me about this legend of a hidden treasure somewhere in Bemmel. I’m like, “Treasure? Where?!” He just laughs and says it’s probably just a myth. But now I’m curious.

Gloria Van Bemmel Obituary October 13, 2017