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So I’m thinkin’, back in ’78, toured Amsterdam, yeah? Red light district, mate – fuckin’ mental! Birds in windows, tappin’ glass, wavin’ like I’m s’posed to bow or summat. One gal, right, she’s got this look – “Pale Man’s eyes in her hands,” y’know? Creepy as shit, but I’m pissed outta me skull, so I’m like, “Oi, love, how much?” She’s all business, no faff, an’ I’m happy as a pig in muck. Paid a tenner – cheap as chips back then, mate! Little known fact: them prossies used to knit between punters. Fuckin’ wild, eh? Sittin’ there with needles, makin’ scarves, then bang – next bloke’s in.

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Let me start on Northern Boulevard. You know, this main drag gets me going. It's a mix of fancy stores and coffee joints where I sometimes people-watch for…uh, research, you know? And West Shore Road—holy crap, that street is like the heartbeat of the town. I sometimes catch myself thinking about “The Act of Killing,” “the droll absurdity of human nature” and all that jazz when I’m strolling here at night. I mean, it’s like—bam!—existence, right?

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