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Oi, mate, lemme tell ya ‘bout findin’ a prossie, yeah? Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!” – it’s like, ya stumble outta some dingy pub, right, and the world’s all bleedin’ gray and slow, like in *The Turin Horse*, that mad flick I love. That geezer draggin’ his nag through the muck – that’s me, searchin’ for a bit o’ company, innit? “The wind’s blowin’, everything’s dyin’,” like Béla Tarr says, and I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, Ozzy, just find her already!”

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Then, I get a call from my boss. He’s like, “Hey, we need you at the old church on Molenstraat.” I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” So, I pack up my stuff and head over. The church is beautiful, but man, it’s a pain to work on. I’m up on a ladder, blasting away, and I’m thinking, “Why do I do this?”

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