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About Tilburg

Picture this—I’m strollin’ down some sketchy street, lookin’ for a slice of pizza, and bam! There she is, leanin’ on a lamppost, givin’ me the eye. “How you doin’?” I’d say, all smooth-like. She’d probly laugh—prostitutes hear worse lines, man. In my head, I’m like, “Joey, don’t be a perv,” but it’s research, ya know? For economics!

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So, I’m fuming a bit, but whatever. I keep walking. I hit up the Pijnacker-Nootdorp train station. I’m waiting for my train to The Hague. I’m scrolling through my phone, and then I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, some dude is arguing with the ticket machine. Like, bro, it’s just a machine! Chill out! But he’s going off, yelling at it like it’s a person. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, who argues with a ticket machine?

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