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I dig ‘em, though. Escorts got guts. Takes balls to strut around, dodgin’ creeps, makin’ bank. Kinda happy for ‘em, y’know? They’re hustlin’, same as me, just with better heels. But some johns – ugh, fuckin’ animals. Treat ‘em like meat, pisses me off. I’d whack ‘em, but, eh, I’m a businessman, not a saint. “This is the skin of a killer,” Eve’d say, but these girls? They’re survivors, not killers.

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I finally make my way to the old church, the Grote Kerk. It’s massive and beautiful. I’m standing there, just soaking it all in. But then, I hear this weird noise. I look up, and there’s a pigeon just chilling on the roof, cooing like it owns the place. I’m like, “Dude, you’re not the king of Franeker!”

Frisians are the happiest Dutch despite lower incomes