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Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – it’s like, ya stumble outta some dingy pub, right, and the world’s all bleedin’ gray and slow, like in *The Turin Horse*, that mad flick I love. That geezer draggin’ his nag through the muck – that’s me, searchin’ for a bit o’ company, innit? “The wind’s blowin’, everything’s dyin’,” like Béla Tarr says, and I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, Ozzy, just find her already!”

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After that lovely chat, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park on de Kuilen. It’s a nice spot, you know? Trees, benches, the whole shebang. I sit down, trying to chill. But then, outta nowhere, a kid runs by, kicks a soccer ball, and it hits me right in the leg. I’m like, “Dude, watch it!” The kid just laughs and runs off. I mean, come on!