what i did on my holidays
- chigusa
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what i did on my holidays
Trip report April 23 to 26
Arrived at central station in good order on Sunday morning after a dull, uneventful flight. Marched to Central cs, and bought some warm ears hash, great stuff with the consistency of impacted earwax that has been frozen, wonder if that has anything to do with the name? Had a couple of joints of that with a coffee whilst sitting at the window watching the traffic go by. After an hour or so I walked round the corner to the coin. This has been one of my favourite coffeeshops for a few years now, they have good weed, are open at seven in the morning and the staff are sweet as fuck. Bought a gram of bubblegum which I smoked while nattering to the guy behind the bar. As luck would have it they had just added a few new strains to the menu, including G13 crossed with sage and shiva shanti. Also, I drank the loveliest cup of chai. Chai isn t something I usually enjoy but this was like having a shower, it perked me right up and put a spring in my step which lasted all the way over to amnesia coffeeshop and that includes stopping to check in at my hotel and for a ham and cheese butty at a baker s shop on the way.
I ve never been in Amnesia before but I d arranged to meet Bollocks and some others in there. It s in a lovely spot and the late morning sun reflecting off the canal onto the windows gave it a sparkly inviting sort of look that was just the job. Inside was just as welcoming, I got a coffee and a gram of oj haze and sat down to skin up. Across from me was a bloke who looked a bit channelsy and he was soon joined by another, I listened to their introductions, Otis and Caminoreal. Before I could get up and introduce myself they were joined by a young Englishman, the guest. I went over and sat with them, over the next quarter of an hour we were joined by bigbird, birdman, purplehaze, chichi, boneymaroni, bollocks,(who had spent the previous few days drinking and making smells in his cave at the front of the boat), ohd and maybe one or two others. I don t really remember much about the oj haze other than it didn t last long and I was soon at the counter buying more weed. This one was melon haze, (the only notes I have are a list of weed and hash, and the shops I bought them from.). Had a smoke with cheech, bollocks and boney. Cheech had very kindly bought me a tea flavoured chocolate from Puccini s which unfortunately tasted like tea and chocolate mixed together and looked like either a turd or the weirdest piece of hash you ve ever seen. Birdman sat with us for a while and we chatted about the fair that had set up in dam square, they had the most awful little roller coaster, all sharp corners and huge drops. I wouldn t go on it in a million years, but birdy fears no roller coaster because he has been riding a particularly rickety one at Coney Island for years and that one has never killed or even injured him. After finishing the melon haze and arranging to meet various people later in the day I walked back over to the hotel.
My hotel, the Orange Tulip was on the Damrak, above a steak house and thirty seconds from De Kuil, where I stopped off to buy some blueberry. The room they offered me was tiny and only one floor up from the street, I wasn t happy with it so after making the desk clerk go on the internet to look at the pictures of the rooms in his own fucking hotel, I was moved to a much bigger room on the top floor. It had a great view and the only street noises were trams and a sort of low murmur of voices, couldn t have been better. Due to superior Dutch water pressure, using the shower was like being hit by hot wet bricks. The toilet was also particularly fierce and I m pretty sure that I could have flushed a shoe or something similar down it with no trouble at all.
After attending to my ablutions I smoked my gram of blueberry in one big spliff. Usually I
Mix weed with tobacco, but in Amsterdam I enjoy the occasional pure joint. This one filled me with blueberry flavour all the way from my head down. At that moment if you had cut a slice off my arse and fried it, the resultant bacon would have tasted like blueberry cannabis from De Kuil. It is a fucking belting smoke, and I would fight a reasonably large dog in order to have a bag of it on the table in front of me right now.
What with the doobie and having got up at stupid o clock in the morning I was pretty fucked, so I got my head down for a couple of hours, woke up refreshed and reinforced the feeling with another shower. I dressed and then left the hotel and headed across Damrak to Warmoestraat and the coin.
Warmoestraat was its usual self, lots of dildos in windows with mad porno and little junkie gypo bastards whispering about drugs, but I practically danced along to the coin. The bubble machine hasn t worked for ages and I think that is a real shame, but the way the sunlight stops at the door has always done it for me. That little bit of seediness just gives it the edge. A double pretty black girl with bleached blonde hair sold me a gram of malana sweet crème and a looza, I took them both to a table near the door, rolled a joint with one and slowly sipped the other. Once again I was in a happy place, and what a fucking happy place it was. The malana is a black hash that has none of the earthy taste associated with a lot of black, it is in fact sweet and creamy, the chick behind the bar claimed this is because it is not mixed with animal fat to bind it, unlike a lot of the afghani and paki black hashes. I have never believed all that dogwank about opium in black hash and this chick s explanation of the funny taste makes far more sense to me.
I smoked off the malana in two good joints and packed up my shit to walk over to the pink floyd. I had hoped to catch up with bollocks or birdy but that didn t happen. I did however get some of pink floyd s double trouble hash, which I wasn t very impressed with at all. I left pink floyd and went round the corner to the rokery where I sat in the lean to at the front and smoked the rest of the double trouble mixed with a fruity haze that I bought from the rokery just to make the hash a better bet. Shedloads of people pass by the rokery so there is generally something to look at, and if all else fails you can always nip over to the pissoir for a piss . Fucking lovely!
It was getting late and I was knackered so I went for a quick once round the rld winking and blowing kisses at the prettier whores, I wouldn t pay to fuck them but I do like to let them get a good look at me just in case.
Just as entered the hotel the rain started, so I finished the evening by sitting at my window watching the rain piss down on the Damrak while smoking the last of the fruity haze from the rokery. What a fucking, fucking top day, and it was only Sunday.
Arrived at central station in good order on Sunday morning after a dull, uneventful flight. Marched to Central cs, and bought some warm ears hash, great stuff with the consistency of impacted earwax that has been frozen, wonder if that has anything to do with the name? Had a couple of joints of that with a coffee whilst sitting at the window watching the traffic go by. After an hour or so I walked round the corner to the coin. This has been one of my favourite coffeeshops for a few years now, they have good weed, are open at seven in the morning and the staff are sweet as fuck. Bought a gram of bubblegum which I smoked while nattering to the guy behind the bar. As luck would have it they had just added a few new strains to the menu, including G13 crossed with sage and shiva shanti. Also, I drank the loveliest cup of chai. Chai isn t something I usually enjoy but this was like having a shower, it perked me right up and put a spring in my step which lasted all the way over to amnesia coffeeshop and that includes stopping to check in at my hotel and for a ham and cheese butty at a baker s shop on the way.
I ve never been in Amnesia before but I d arranged to meet Bollocks and some others in there. It s in a lovely spot and the late morning sun reflecting off the canal onto the windows gave it a sparkly inviting sort of look that was just the job. Inside was just as welcoming, I got a coffee and a gram of oj haze and sat down to skin up. Across from me was a bloke who looked a bit channelsy and he was soon joined by another, I listened to their introductions, Otis and Caminoreal. Before I could get up and introduce myself they were joined by a young Englishman, the guest. I went over and sat with them, over the next quarter of an hour we were joined by bigbird, birdman, purplehaze, chichi, boneymaroni, bollocks,(who had spent the previous few days drinking and making smells in his cave at the front of the boat), ohd and maybe one or two others. I don t really remember much about the oj haze other than it didn t last long and I was soon at the counter buying more weed. This one was melon haze, (the only notes I have are a list of weed and hash, and the shops I bought them from.). Had a smoke with cheech, bollocks and boney. Cheech had very kindly bought me a tea flavoured chocolate from Puccini s which unfortunately tasted like tea and chocolate mixed together and looked like either a turd or the weirdest piece of hash you ve ever seen. Birdman sat with us for a while and we chatted about the fair that had set up in dam square, they had the most awful little roller coaster, all sharp corners and huge drops. I wouldn t go on it in a million years, but birdy fears no roller coaster because he has been riding a particularly rickety one at Coney Island for years and that one has never killed or even injured him. After finishing the melon haze and arranging to meet various people later in the day I walked back over to the hotel.
My hotel, the Orange Tulip was on the Damrak, above a steak house and thirty seconds from De Kuil, where I stopped off to buy some blueberry. The room they offered me was tiny and only one floor up from the street, I wasn t happy with it so after making the desk clerk go on the internet to look at the pictures of the rooms in his own fucking hotel, I was moved to a much bigger room on the top floor. It had a great view and the only street noises were trams and a sort of low murmur of voices, couldn t have been better. Due to superior Dutch water pressure, using the shower was like being hit by hot wet bricks. The toilet was also particularly fierce and I m pretty sure that I could have flushed a shoe or something similar down it with no trouble at all.
After attending to my ablutions I smoked my gram of blueberry in one big spliff. Usually I
Mix weed with tobacco, but in Amsterdam I enjoy the occasional pure joint. This one filled me with blueberry flavour all the way from my head down. At that moment if you had cut a slice off my arse and fried it, the resultant bacon would have tasted like blueberry cannabis from De Kuil. It is a fucking belting smoke, and I would fight a reasonably large dog in order to have a bag of it on the table in front of me right now.
What with the doobie and having got up at stupid o clock in the morning I was pretty fucked, so I got my head down for a couple of hours, woke up refreshed and reinforced the feeling with another shower. I dressed and then left the hotel and headed across Damrak to Warmoestraat and the coin.
Warmoestraat was its usual self, lots of dildos in windows with mad porno and little junkie gypo bastards whispering about drugs, but I practically danced along to the coin. The bubble machine hasn t worked for ages and I think that is a real shame, but the way the sunlight stops at the door has always done it for me. That little bit of seediness just gives it the edge. A double pretty black girl with bleached blonde hair sold me a gram of malana sweet crème and a looza, I took them both to a table near the door, rolled a joint with one and slowly sipped the other. Once again I was in a happy place, and what a fucking happy place it was. The malana is a black hash that has none of the earthy taste associated with a lot of black, it is in fact sweet and creamy, the chick behind the bar claimed this is because it is not mixed with animal fat to bind it, unlike a lot of the afghani and paki black hashes. I have never believed all that dogwank about opium in black hash and this chick s explanation of the funny taste makes far more sense to me.
I smoked off the malana in two good joints and packed up my shit to walk over to the pink floyd. I had hoped to catch up with bollocks or birdy but that didn t happen. I did however get some of pink floyd s double trouble hash, which I wasn t very impressed with at all. I left pink floyd and went round the corner to the rokery where I sat in the lean to at the front and smoked the rest of the double trouble mixed with a fruity haze that I bought from the rokery just to make the hash a better bet. Shedloads of people pass by the rokery so there is generally something to look at, and if all else fails you can always nip over to the pissoir for a piss . Fucking lovely!
It was getting late and I was knackered so I went for a quick once round the rld winking and blowing kisses at the prettier whores, I wouldn t pay to fuck them but I do like to let them get a good look at me just in case.
Just as entered the hotel the rain started, so I finished the evening by sitting at my window watching the rain piss down on the Damrak while smoking the last of the fruity haze from the rokery. What a fucking, fucking top day, and it was only Sunday.
- a bollocks
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- chigusa
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i went past the old church loads of times on tuesday night, not a fucking single channelite to be seen, and viz comic is not pornography. For mrs.cakehead see this
http://www.elirecords.co.uk/mrscakehead.html
i called at central cs on wednesday morning thinking you might be there to have a welcome smoke with lctricity, but i didnt see anyone i recognised and i had to get my bike back to the hire place for nine.
http://www.elirecords.co.uk/mrscakehead.html
i called at central cs on wednesday morning thinking you might be there to have a welcome smoke with lctricity, but i didnt see anyone i recognised and i had to get my bike back to the hire place for nine.
- Santoka
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chigusa wrote:At that moment if you had cut a slice off my arse and fried it, the resultant bacon would have tasted like blueberry cannabis from De Kuil.
:)
chigusa wrote:Shedloads of people pass by the rokery so there is generally something to look at, and if all else fails you can always nip over to the pissoir for a piss . Fucking lovely!
It was getting late and I was knackered so I went for a quick once round the rld winking and blowing kisses at the prettier whores, I wouldn't pay to fuck them but I do like to let them get a good look at me just in case.
:)
chigusa wrote:What a fucking, fucking top day, and it was only Sunday.
Sounds like a great trip. Thanks for writing about it. Cheered me up!
- NOTTOBORING
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- a bollocks
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chigusa wrote:i went past the old church loads of times on tuesday night, not a fucking single channelite to be seen, and viz comic is not pornography. For mrs.cakehead see this
http://www.elirecords.co.uk/mrscakehead.html
i called at central cs on wednesday morning thinking you might be there to have a welcome smoke with lctricity, but i didnt see anyone i recognised and i had to get my bike back to the hire place for nine.
no you limey dumbass..... you said EITHER OLD CHURCH OR "STIX" FOR SURE!
you missed Beanie.... your loss.. she was hot for you.
WOOT!
Yeah that's right: Amnesia, I return from the bar and there's this big log of tea chocolate turd in a hash bag. I pick it up and look at it not know what it is. I'm thinking, "Gee, they rolled some hash in some hash flake, it looks real apetizing." And Chigusa says, "Chococolate." And now I'm thinking, "Wow, some chocolate hash, cool." and I smell it, and it smells like chocolate and I'm really impressed. But then I find out it is actually chocolate. Weird it being in that bag.
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chigusa wrote:went past stix as well but not as often as old church. i kept going back to the coin to look at the girl behind the bar. did't get me anywhere though.
wtf? Did the doc pull that glass outta your foot and stick it in your EAR?
the STIX down south on Ultrechstraat. We went over this. More than thrice.
hell even BB found it. Cheers, mate.
admit it... Tay = Gay. the Colonies rule. and You are an errant cunt that missed our Flicka.
WOOT!
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- chigusa
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Monday
Woke up early to a blustery looking day, turned on the tv to the bbc from an hour ago and could just see Holland on the edge of the weather map, Sian Lloyd or some other ugly witch said it was going to be a lovely day and that was good enough for me. I had run out of weed the night before and I didn t fancy a cigarette so after a quick kicking from the shower I nipped across to the coin.
Warmoestraat is a different story at sevenish in the morning, no junkies for one thing, and all the street cleaning machinery is out and about. The men with huge powerful hoses washing the scum and filth from the streets, that sort of big vacuum cleaner on wheels and my personal favourite, the bin sucker. The only tourists about the place are either early morning stoners like me or new arrivals looking flustered and weighed down with bags and desire. Most other people you see at that time of day are on their way to or from work, and its cool to spot the occasional chick on her way to a mornings whoring.
In the coin I choose a bag of shiva shanti which smelled faintly of onions and left my fingers sticking to my coffee cup after id rolled the first joint. I sat with a couple of Norwegian lads who were struggling to make a joint with the sticky hash they had bought. They both spoke excellent English and I passed a happy hour chatting and smoking with them.
As I was beginning to feel hungry I went back to the hotel for breakfast. Fucking disappointment! It was served in the steak house below the hotel, which according to the fuckwit cook, (who I questioned on the subject at some fucking length), didn t have the machinery required to make toast. I asked what they used to grill steak, he showed me a device that could have charred half a cow and explained that he wasn t allowed to fire up the grill until the hotel breakfasts were over. At this point I lost the will to live and fucked off round the corner and got a ham kass and a chocomel from the butty shop opposite de kuil. A big fat ham and cheese on brown washed down with thick, thick chocomel and followed by a cigarette will really get the mail moving if you know what I mean, so I had to quickly make it back to the hotel where I performed certain flush capacity tests on the toilet. I must report that the short flush would not get rid of what the long flush was designed to deal with, but in every other way it coped marvellously. I reported this to the desk clerk along with my dissatisfaction at breakfast, but he didn t seem interested in either piece of news so I buggered off back to the coin.
The girl working in the coin that morning was a skinny bleached blonde. You could have chopped cocaine with her hip bones. Her underwear had been carefully arranged to let little bows sewn into the waistband hang artfully outside of her jeans. She was one of those deliriously excited European women who call you man all the time and can make you hard with just their accent and the shape of their mouth. She welcomed me back with a HEY MAN!!!!! and did a little bouncy dance. Im not kidding, a little bouncy dance.
I wanted to buy some top of the menu blond hash at something like fourteen euro a gram, I think it was the primera, but the chick wouldn t let me. Instead she pulled out the coin special hash, leaned over the counter so that our faces were inches apart and broke open a chunk of her special right under my nose, then just giggled and danced back to the scales singing, how much do you want man?
I have to say that at this point, due to her sales technique, I would have bought dogshit from if it had been dried properly, but the coin special was my best buy this trip. At six euros a gram it pisses on a lot of the other, more expensive hash I purchased. So, fantastic hash at a great price, served up by a vision of drug addled beauty. The coin is as cool as a smoking baby.
I can describe the coin special quite well as I have a lump of it here as I write. Its wonderful soft reddish brown hash, with a shiny surface and a cake like inside. It smells of flowers and pepper and tastes even better. Its pretty fucking strong too.
Smoking the special and what little was left of the shiva shanti fucked me right over and I had to drink a coke to recover. The energy burst made me decide to forgo the walk down Damrak to rent a bike that morning and somehow I found myself with a tram ticket, sitting in a metro train on my way to the Waterlooplein.
The Waterlooplein is nothing special. Until a few years ago there was a man who sold Dutch army socks for a euro a pair, they were warm, hard wearing and to my mind the cheapest socks in Europe. He is gone now. I suppose you see the odd piece of nice tat and those big boxes of scissors are always very impressive, but the Waterlooplein is a bit of a waste of time. Which is why I found myself standing in the middle of it, wishing I had hired a bike and wondering where to go next.
It s a short walk to thorbekeplein and the bushdocter, but by the time I got there I had sweated out a good pint of fluid, turned white as a sheet and begun to stagger. The young man serving on looked horrified at the state of me as I entered and just about managed to drag myself onto a stool. To his credit, he didn t ask me to leave or anything and just sold me two marathons and a couple of peach loozas. Once again, sticky and sweet worked their magic and I was ready to continue.
The bushdocter has some sweet as a nut blueberry, it costs something like fifteen euros for a two gram bag and looks like more when you hold it in your hand. I only had a tiny bit of the coin special left so I bought the blueberry. I took it and some more chocolate and coke outside to sit in the sun with a load of ex pat brits who were shopfitting further up the canal and had come to the bushdocter for lunch. The blueberry fucked me with its tiny little fists and the chocolate kept me from passing out. I had fallen lucky and hit the perfect balance.
The bushdocters terrace is a real suntrap and after the foul misery of this last winter it was all I could do to leave and set off up the singel to the grey area.
An old foot injury was giving me proper gyp and I had begun to limp along, looking like Ratso Rizzo and muttering to myself about stupid twats who don t hire bikes when they plainly should, this took up all my attention and I hardly noticed what, judging by the state of my foot later, must have been a painful walk. Sometimes I really am the luckiest bastard.
Grey area was empty apart from a young American couple and whoever the young bloke is that works behind the counter now, I got some golden soles and sat at the table nearest the window and rolled a nice fat one. That big sash window was thrown wide open to let in what little breeze it could from the street and I just sat blowing huge puffs of golden soles smoke out into the world.
After a while a familiar looking fellow came into the shop, Jerkypete. We nodded and said hi, he made a purchase and sat at the next table. We didn t chat, just both sat and enjoyed our smoke. I love the grey area and always have. I love everything about it, even Steve from space.
I spent what felt like ages staring at all the stickers and bits of shit all over the walls and enjoying the voices of American stoners as the shop began to fill up. My foot was really beginning to hurt, (the filthy, treacherous bastard), like screws being driven into my sole/soul. When this happens I start to walk on the side of my foot, which makes me look like a total fucking spazz. Anyway, I had to take the walk to the hotel really slowly, almost a crawl. I took the best part of twenty minutes to get from the grey area back to the Damrak, where I hauled myself up the hotel stairs to my room and sat under the shower until I felt normal again. I lay on the bed in shaft of late afternoon sun, cock out to the world and fell asleep.
.
Woke up early to a blustery looking day, turned on the tv to the bbc from an hour ago and could just see Holland on the edge of the weather map, Sian Lloyd or some other ugly witch said it was going to be a lovely day and that was good enough for me. I had run out of weed the night before and I didn t fancy a cigarette so after a quick kicking from the shower I nipped across to the coin.
Warmoestraat is a different story at sevenish in the morning, no junkies for one thing, and all the street cleaning machinery is out and about. The men with huge powerful hoses washing the scum and filth from the streets, that sort of big vacuum cleaner on wheels and my personal favourite, the bin sucker. The only tourists about the place are either early morning stoners like me or new arrivals looking flustered and weighed down with bags and desire. Most other people you see at that time of day are on their way to or from work, and its cool to spot the occasional chick on her way to a mornings whoring.
In the coin I choose a bag of shiva shanti which smelled faintly of onions and left my fingers sticking to my coffee cup after id rolled the first joint. I sat with a couple of Norwegian lads who were struggling to make a joint with the sticky hash they had bought. They both spoke excellent English and I passed a happy hour chatting and smoking with them.
As I was beginning to feel hungry I went back to the hotel for breakfast. Fucking disappointment! It was served in the steak house below the hotel, which according to the fuckwit cook, (who I questioned on the subject at some fucking length), didn t have the machinery required to make toast. I asked what they used to grill steak, he showed me a device that could have charred half a cow and explained that he wasn t allowed to fire up the grill until the hotel breakfasts were over. At this point I lost the will to live and fucked off round the corner and got a ham kass and a chocomel from the butty shop opposite de kuil. A big fat ham and cheese on brown washed down with thick, thick chocomel and followed by a cigarette will really get the mail moving if you know what I mean, so I had to quickly make it back to the hotel where I performed certain flush capacity tests on the toilet. I must report that the short flush would not get rid of what the long flush was designed to deal with, but in every other way it coped marvellously. I reported this to the desk clerk along with my dissatisfaction at breakfast, but he didn t seem interested in either piece of news so I buggered off back to the coin.
The girl working in the coin that morning was a skinny bleached blonde. You could have chopped cocaine with her hip bones. Her underwear had been carefully arranged to let little bows sewn into the waistband hang artfully outside of her jeans. She was one of those deliriously excited European women who call you man all the time and can make you hard with just their accent and the shape of their mouth. She welcomed me back with a HEY MAN!!!!! and did a little bouncy dance. Im not kidding, a little bouncy dance.
I wanted to buy some top of the menu blond hash at something like fourteen euro a gram, I think it was the primera, but the chick wouldn t let me. Instead she pulled out the coin special hash, leaned over the counter so that our faces were inches apart and broke open a chunk of her special right under my nose, then just giggled and danced back to the scales singing, how much do you want man?
I have to say that at this point, due to her sales technique, I would have bought dogshit from if it had been dried properly, but the coin special was my best buy this trip. At six euros a gram it pisses on a lot of the other, more expensive hash I purchased. So, fantastic hash at a great price, served up by a vision of drug addled beauty. The coin is as cool as a smoking baby.
I can describe the coin special quite well as I have a lump of it here as I write. Its wonderful soft reddish brown hash, with a shiny surface and a cake like inside. It smells of flowers and pepper and tastes even better. Its pretty fucking strong too.
Smoking the special and what little was left of the shiva shanti fucked me right over and I had to drink a coke to recover. The energy burst made me decide to forgo the walk down Damrak to rent a bike that morning and somehow I found myself with a tram ticket, sitting in a metro train on my way to the Waterlooplein.
The Waterlooplein is nothing special. Until a few years ago there was a man who sold Dutch army socks for a euro a pair, they were warm, hard wearing and to my mind the cheapest socks in Europe. He is gone now. I suppose you see the odd piece of nice tat and those big boxes of scissors are always very impressive, but the Waterlooplein is a bit of a waste of time. Which is why I found myself standing in the middle of it, wishing I had hired a bike and wondering where to go next.
It s a short walk to thorbekeplein and the bushdocter, but by the time I got there I had sweated out a good pint of fluid, turned white as a sheet and begun to stagger. The young man serving on looked horrified at the state of me as I entered and just about managed to drag myself onto a stool. To his credit, he didn t ask me to leave or anything and just sold me two marathons and a couple of peach loozas. Once again, sticky and sweet worked their magic and I was ready to continue.
The bushdocter has some sweet as a nut blueberry, it costs something like fifteen euros for a two gram bag and looks like more when you hold it in your hand. I only had a tiny bit of the coin special left so I bought the blueberry. I took it and some more chocolate and coke outside to sit in the sun with a load of ex pat brits who were shopfitting further up the canal and had come to the bushdocter for lunch. The blueberry fucked me with its tiny little fists and the chocolate kept me from passing out. I had fallen lucky and hit the perfect balance.
The bushdocters terrace is a real suntrap and after the foul misery of this last winter it was all I could do to leave and set off up the singel to the grey area.
An old foot injury was giving me proper gyp and I had begun to limp along, looking like Ratso Rizzo and muttering to myself about stupid twats who don t hire bikes when they plainly should, this took up all my attention and I hardly noticed what, judging by the state of my foot later, must have been a painful walk. Sometimes I really am the luckiest bastard.
Grey area was empty apart from a young American couple and whoever the young bloke is that works behind the counter now, I got some golden soles and sat at the table nearest the window and rolled a nice fat one. That big sash window was thrown wide open to let in what little breeze it could from the street and I just sat blowing huge puffs of golden soles smoke out into the world.
After a while a familiar looking fellow came into the shop, Jerkypete. We nodded and said hi, he made a purchase and sat at the next table. We didn t chat, just both sat and enjoyed our smoke. I love the grey area and always have. I love everything about it, even Steve from space.
I spent what felt like ages staring at all the stickers and bits of shit all over the walls and enjoying the voices of American stoners as the shop began to fill up. My foot was really beginning to hurt, (the filthy, treacherous bastard), like screws being driven into my sole/soul. When this happens I start to walk on the side of my foot, which makes me look like a total fucking spazz. Anyway, I had to take the walk to the hotel really slowly, almost a crawl. I took the best part of twenty minutes to get from the grey area back to the Damrak, where I hauled myself up the hotel stairs to my room and sat under the shower until I felt normal again. I lay on the bed in shaft of late afternoon sun, cock out to the world and fell asleep.
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- MikeFromTx
- super power poster
- Posts: 1618
- Joined: Sat Apr 14, 1:33 pm
- Location: Thailand
Or do it your way, six of one thing you know, i bet you two were very popular on the school playground with your abilities to turn names in to cute little insults and then follow up with funny cuss words. brings back memories, i had not been called patricia since about third grade. Shit yourself, pissy pants, go jerk off, all classic school yard stuff. Bullies will all ways be bullies, cheers
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