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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, I decide to take a stroll down Calle de la Libertad. Beautiful street, palm trees everywhere, but I’m still mad about the soccer ball. I’m walkin’, thinkin’ about life, when I bump into my buddy Carlos. He’s always got some wild story. Today, he tells me he saw a guy tryin’ to sell ice cream to a goat. A goat! In the middle of the street! I can’t even.

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