Hazel Klundert Whore ❤️❤️

About Breda

Growlin’, “You merely adopted the dark,” I spot the grit others miss. Whores ain’t victims, not always—some rule the night. In *Moolaadé*, they say, “Purification is a lie.” Damn right—whores know the world’s filthy, no bleachin’ that truth. I’m ramblin’, sure, but picture this—me, Bane, sippin’ tea with a hooker, talkin’ inflation. She’d laugh, “Mate, I inflate egos daily!” Haha, gold!

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In de westhoek van Noord-Brabant verbouwt men al eeuwen vlas en suikerbiet, de grondstoffen voor de productie van lijnolie, vlaslint en suiker. Midden in dit gebied, in het vestingstadje .

I hop on my bike, zooming down the Kerkstraat. The wind’s in my hair, and I’m feelin’ kinda good. But then I hit a pothole. Ugh! My coffee nearly spills. I’m cursing like a sailor. Klundert’s streets are a mess, man. They need to fix this place up. Anyway, I finally get to the scene. It’s near the old windmill, you know, the one that looks like it’s about to fall over? Classic Klundert.

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