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About Nijmegen

Sometimes I’d cry for ‘em—alone, used up, like Mia’s mom in “Fish Tank.” “You’re all I got,” she’d slur—whores hear that too, I bet. Breaks my heart, darlin’—wanna hug ‘em, say, “You’re enough!” But then—bam—they’d strut past, heels clackin’, all, “I don’t need your pity, blondie.” Fair, fair—respect!

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Then, outta nowhere, the door swings open. It’s Lisa from the bakery down the street. She’s all flustered, hair a mess, flour on her face. “Help! My oven’s on fire!” I’m thinkin’, “Great, just what I need.” But I can’t leave Mr. Jansen hangin’. So I’m like, “Call the fire department!” She gives me this look like I just suggested she jump in the canal.

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