Amsterdam: Day Seven
You know what’s fucking scary? When you are in the women’s bathroom and see a reflection of a man behind you in the mirror and you turn around and no one’s there.
Then you see it again…
And then you finally realize that those portholes behind you aren’t mirrors but are windows into the men’s bathroom.
You know what’s fucking awesome? As I write this I am sitting here drinking a Heineken and smoking a joint. True story.
There’s now a Canadian tour group of high schoolers or something staying here and they are damn loud.
I’m having a lazy day. Daniel was going to email me to go to the zoo with him but I haven’t heard from him. This morning I walked around a bit, just enjoying the streets of Amsterdam. I grabbed some pasta salad and juice and decided to have a picnic at Rembrandtplein for lunch. I’ll probably take it easy today and party all night before catching my plane. I can’t believe that this is my last night. I feel different here although it’s probably just all the pot smoke in the air.
I can’t tell if this is really doing anything to me and I keep sucking in fibers and having to spit them out. And I don’t like that it keeps smoking so I keep putting it out and relighting it. You probably aren’t supposed to do that and I’m probably doing it all wrong.
My feet are going to fall off.
I’m not looking forward to leaving tomorrow.
I’m singing to myself at the table like I do in my car but not out loud.
That probably means something.
I miss my car. I don’t like walking. My feet hurt.
All these fucking Canadians probably think I’m a complete stoner. I can’t wait to rest my feet. I don’t want to go back. I’m not going back as me. Everyone told me Amsterdam took only 2 or 3 days but I can’t imagine if I’d only been here for 2. I would have left needing more.