You have never seen so many bicycles. They run roughshod over the streets in droves, sort of like you’d imagine packs of rats look like when they’re stampeding or whatever. That said, the streets aren’t exactly dangerous. Me and Kaatje walked for maybe a thousand miles through the curving streets and weren’t hit a single time by a bike, not even when I smoked hash.  Maybe that’s because Kaatje looked out for me. I look out for her. We’re symbiotic, not co-dependent. My mom was really concerned about me being co-dependent, because she claims that’s what’s killed both her marriages. I’d do anything for Kaatje and she would do anything for me. That’s balanced and good.

T. was not so good there. When I told Kaatje about him (the details), she wanted to help. That was after she fought with him in this restaurant where he said Indonesians look really happy. Kaatje is kind of, I don't know, explosive or something, and she just went off about how no Indonesian in Amsterdam can ever be happy because Indonesians are victims of colonial oppression. T. got really morose and quiet and then he wandered away into a cold night and then I told Kaatje all about my contract with T. and she had to help him. There was no way to help T. then except to stay around, you know?