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About Amsterdam

Oh, and don’t get me started on the johns—pathetic sometimes, hilarious others. Stumblin’ in, all nervous, like they’re in *Children of Men* facin’ the Fishes. “This is it, the end,” I’d mutter, watchin’ ‘em fumble. One time, heard a dude in Amsterdam’s red district paid double just to cry on a girl’s shoulder. Brothel turned therapist—ain’t that a trip? Cracked me up, but damn, it’s sad too.