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I’m chattin’ her up, casual-like, “Oi, love, what’s the deal?” She’s cool, sassy, says, “50 quid, no funny biz.” I’m thinkin’, *Hurt Locker* style—“The rush of battle is a potent addiction”—and mate, I’m hooked already! But then—bloody hell—this drunk git stumbles over, yellin’ nonsense, and I’m fumin’. “You shall not pass, you filthy wanker!” I bellow, staff or no staff, I’m ready to deck him. She laughs, says, “Chill, Gandalf, I’ve seen worse.” That cracks me up—happy as a hobbit with a pint.

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First stop, I’m rollin’ down the Kerkstraat, and I see this old dude, Jan, struggling with his bike. I mean, c’mon, it’s a bike, not a rocket ship! I help him out, and he’s all like, “Dank je wel, jongen!” I’m thinkin’, “No prob, man. Just try not to fall over again.”

Photographing the Light in Places That May Soon Be Lost (Published 2007)