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What pisses me off? The blokes who treat ‘em like dirt. Makes my blood boil—where’s the class? Happy bit? She cracks a smile when I tip big—surprises her. “You’re not like the others,” she says. Damn right, I’m Bond! Little factoid: in Amsterdam, they’ve got unions for this gig—proper rights an’ all. Shocked me first time I heard it.

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I head over to the food stalls on Nakamura Street. Man, the smell of yakitori hits me like a freight train. I’m drooling. I grab a skewer, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, I see this guy drop his whole plate of food. I’m like, “Dude, no!” But he just laughs it off. I admire that.