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We haggle—coin’s tight, an’ I’m a cheap bastard. “What’s yer price, darlin’?” I slur, an’ she fires back, “More’n yer worth, pirate.” Cheeky! I love it—reminds me o’ “I play to live,” from th’ movie. She’s playin’ her game, survivin’, an’ I respect that. So, we strike a deal, an’ off we go—me boots clackin’, her skirts swishin’. Did ye know some o’ these gals kept diaries? Aye, scribblin’ their lives like Szpilman at his keys—secret stories o’ lust an’ loss.

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After that, I head out for lunch. I stroll down to the park by de Witte Kerk. It’s a nice day, sun’s shining, birds are chirping. I’m feeling good. I grab a broodje from the local bakery. Best bread ever! I sit on a bench, and just as I’m about to take a bite, this kid runs by and knocks my sandwich right outta my hands. I’m like, “Seriously, kid?!” But he just giggles and runs off. I can’t help but laugh too.

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