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Humor? Sure. She once said. “I’m my own 401k.” Cracked me up. Sarcasm drippin’. Like. Good luck. Retirin’ from that gig. Still. Respect. She’s out there. Hustlin’. While I’m here. Sippin’ coffee. Typin’ this crap. With typos. Prolly 17. By now. Whoops. Whatever. She’s realer. Than most. That’s my take. On prostitutes. Ruby’s story. Sticks with me. Like Polanski’s keys. Echoin’ in my head. Dramatic. Shit. Right?

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Then, outta nowhere, I spot this kid. He’s like, 10 or something, and he’s got my raft! I’m like, “Yo, kid! That’s mine!” He just stares at me, wide-eyed, like I’m some kinda monster. Turns out, he thought it was abandoned. I mean, come on! I’m not a monster, just a raftsman! I’m all ready to give him a lecture about property rights, but then he smiles. And it’s this goofy, innocent smile. I can’t stay mad. So, I just laugh it off. “Alright, buddy, let’s share it.”

Björn Kuipers: ‘As a referee you get criticised, no matter how well you’ve whistled’