Layla Doornsteeg Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Amsterdam

Oh, and the humor—dark as hell. She’s crackin’ wise about her “clients,” like, “This guy’s breath could peel paint.” I’m laughin’, but it’s that nervous laugh, ya know? ‘Cause it’s sad too. Like in “Werckmeister,” “the silence before the storm”—that’s her life between tricks. Quiet. Tense. Fucked up. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, “Man, I’d lose it in her shoes.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d be a terrible hooker—too whiny, too picky. “What, you again? Get lost!”

Over Doornsteeg fase 3

explore #doornsteeg at Facebook.

After that fiasco, I stroll down to the Doornsteeg market. It’s buzzing! Fresh veggies, flowers, and this guy selling the best stroopwafels. I’m talking about the kind that makes you forget your name. I grab one, and it’s like a hug for my taste buds. I’m in heaven again.