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About Tilburg

Like, literally, me as a tractor driver, right? I’m out here plowin’ fields, vibin’, and then—bam—brothels pop in my head! I’m, like, so obsessed with *Only Lovers Left Alive*, that moody vamp flick, ya know? So I’m thinkin’, brothels got that same dark, sexy, eternal vibe—like, “This is our city, Tangier, Paris…”—all mysterious and gritty. I’m drivin’ my tractor, dust flyin’, imaginin’ a brothel in the middle of nowhere, all shadowy and cool.

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After a few hours, I finally finish the job. I’m sweatin’ like a pig, but I’m proud. I step outside, and it’s like the sun’s shinin’ just for me. I’m walkin’ back down the Zandstraat, and I see a bunch of kids playin’ soccer. They’re kickin’ the ball around, laughin’ and shoutin’. I can’t help but smile.