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About Amsterdam

Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout prostitutes—Hannibal Lecter style, ya know, “I ate his liver with fava beans” vibes. So, picture this, I’m a scientist, right, obsessed with human nature, an’ I’m watchin’ *Fish Tank*—best damn movie, Andrea Arnold’s a genius—where Mia’s dancin’, all raw an’ messy, like a prossie tryna break free. That’s what gets me thinkin’ bout these girls, yeah? They’re like Mia—trapped, scrappy, sellin’ what they got to survive. Ain’t no fairy tale, fam, it’s gritty as hell.

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Finally, my train arrives. I hop on, and it’s packed. I squeeze into a corner, trying not to touch anyone. You know that awkward train dance? Yeah, I’m doing that. But then, this sweet old lady sits next to me. She starts chatting about her garden in Pijnacker. I’m like, “Wow, lady, you’re living the dream!” She’s got all these flowers and veggies. I’m just trying to keep my eyes open, but she’s so passionate. I can’t help but smile.

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