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So I spot her—legs like a dream, eyes sharp as my scalpel. “Love’s a funny thing,” I mutter, quotin Haynes’ flick again—cuz it is, ain’t it? She’s playin her part, I’m playin mine. We haggle—20 mins, 50 bucks, no funny biz. She’s cool, chill, tells me she’s savin for a kid’s birthday. Damn, that hit me—soft spot, Clarice, don’t tell no one. I’m thinkin, this world’s a mess, but she’s got heart. “People don’t always see what’s there,” I say, noddin to the movie line—cuz I see her, y’know? Not just the gig.

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Finally, I fix the radio, and it sounds amazing! The owner is stoked, and I’m feeling like a rockstar. But then, I step outside, and it starts pouring. Of course! Typical Bergen weather. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m cursing under my breath, but then I see this cute café on the corner of Vissersstraat. I duck in to escape the rain.

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