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But yeah, I reckon it’s all desperation and bravado, innit? Blokes swaggerin’ about, pretending they’re in control, but really they’re just sad sacks with a tenner and a stiffy. Makes me angry, that—pathetic, really. “We live under the same sky,” like they say in *Timbuktu*, but some of us are scraping the gutter while others preach from the rooftops. Hypocrisy, mate, gets me fuming! And the prossies? Half of ‘em are just trying to survive, dodging pimps and punters who think they’re God’s gift. Surprised me first time I clocked that—not all glamour and fishnets, is it?

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My spa’s windows overlook a tiny square at Dorpsplein. Patrons leave, tellin’ secrets they found in massages. I listen, absorbin’ every sigh—oh, makes me feel alive, makes me feel the theatre of life in all its tragic beauty… "It’s all just a giant masterpiece of chaos", I mutter.

Deweerdt Emiel, "The method of Emiel Deweerdt Kortemark"