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Oh, and quirks? I talk to meself—out loud—swipin’. “She’s fit, nah, too posh!” Drives me mad, but it works. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But sex-dating’s nuts—Godard’d dig it. “Words kill images,” he says. Here, pics kill words—dick pics, boob shots, no chat. Savage, mate! We swears! Try it, but don’t blame me!

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud noise. It’s a bunch of kids on bikes, racing down the Zwarteweg. They’re screaming and laughing, and I can’t help but smile. It’s like, that’s the spirit, right? But then one of them crashes into a lamppost. Ouch! I’m torn between laughing and checking if he’s okay. He gets up, brushes it off, and yells, “I’m fine!” Classic.

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