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About Tilburg

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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First off, I’m cruising down the Hoofdweg, right? Just me and my coffee, feeling all chill. Then BAM! Roadwork everywhere! Like, c’mon, can’t a person get to work without detours? I mean, I get it, roads gotta be fixed, but why today? Why now? I was already late, and my boss is a total stickler for time.

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