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About Amsterdam

I’m picturin’ it now—me, stumblin’ in, trippin’ over boots. “Where’s the exit?!” I’d holler, all red-faced. Ladies laughin’, tossin’ hair, smellin’ like cheap perfume—surprised me how normal it felt. Like a bar, but… naughtier. “God doesn’t care,” that Leviathan priest woulda said, judgin’ me hard. Whatever, man, I’d just want outta there—too much thinkin’!

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First off, I wake up late. Classic me. Alarm? Nah, it decided to take a day off. So, I’m scrambling, throwing on whatever I can find. I mean, who needs matching socks anyway? Not me! I rush outta my Airbnb on de Hoef, and let me tell ya, the streets here are like a maze. I’m dodging bikes like I’m in some twisted video game. Seriously, these Dutch cyclists are like ninjas.

CATHARINA TUINMAN Obituary (2019) - Toronto Star