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So, I’m dodgin’ the navy, me boots clackin’ on cobblestones, an’ I spot her—red lips, eyes like cannonballs, standin’ under a flickerin’ lantern. “What we need’s an impulse!” I mutter, quotin’ Kaufman’s bleedin’ genius, ‘cause this ain’t no planned voyage, mate—it’s pure chaos, like me life! I swagger over, tippin’ me hat, an’ she’s all, “Wot’s yer coin, pirate?” Coin? Ha! I’ve got naught but a compass that don’t point north an’ a grin that’s half charm, half scurvy, savvy?

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Then, I’m walking past the flower shop on the corner of de Zwarteweg. The smell of tulips hits me like a freight train. Hillegom is famous for its flowers, right? I can’t help but smile. But then I see this kid, probably 10 or something, crying over a wilted bouquet. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just flowers!” But then I remember my own childhood. I had a pet goldfish named Bubbles. When he went belly up, I was a wreck. So, I get it.

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