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I’d saunter up, all awkward, like, “Hey, uh, you workin’?” She’d laugh—*laugh*!—right in my face. “What’s a preacher want with me?” she’d say, and I’d be pissed, like, “Don’t stereotype me, lady!” But also kinda happy ‘cause she’s sharp—sharper than me, probs. Fun fact: back in the 1800s, some prostitutes were called “soiled doves”—ain’t that poetic? She’s a dove, I’m a dork, perfect match.

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Turns out, he was late ‘cause he got caught up in some random street performance. Like, who does that? But hey, it was cool. We watched this dude juggle flaming torches. I’m like, “Bro, you’re gonna set yourself on fire!” But he didn’t. Crazy talent, tho.

Jip van Assendelft