A different way of foreign aid

Holland, Amsterdam,
06-06-2010.

I'm spending long but easy daily hours in front of the notoriously long queue outside the Anne Frank House, selling my Mandala games to people from every imaginable corner of the world. Trying hard to stay well away from my house that is full with malignant spirits from the past, the souls of Amigos long since having departed this sorry world, Phra Phun that have returned from a stinking corporal oblivion to a semi-real spirit realm, having taken up roots in my dusty appartment, incorporate entities that chase me out of my own territory but are at the same moment responsible for my fat wallet....

The more I work the more dough I make, maybe a quick visit to De Tweede Mijl aka De Tweede Kwijl because of the bad quality of their free soup where I hardly mingle with the usual street crowd though all of the Tweede Mijl habitues know me and are on reasonably good terms with me these days though probably begrudging me my financial success and my yearly winter trips to the other side of the world where the food is good and tasty, where the life is cheap and the beer is cold to the touch, where the women are willing and friendly and even cheaper...

But however much they begrudge me my good luck, are jealous of my easy and relaxed approach to life itself, my ease at handling addictions, booze and pot attacks on my poor Farang mind...they have no idea at what a price this free life of mine comes, the spirits of ladies of the night gone over to the Land Of No Return but whose spiritual entities still scream at me during the nights making me wake up each and every night, again and again, my friends here in Amsterdam I used to hang out with and whose bodies are now cold and worm eaten...

No big bottle of Red Wine can overcome that, a joint will bring me back to a comatose state, making me sleep as a baby but then only for a few hours before the sweat attacks will plaque me again leaving me swimming in sickly perpiration, my sheets ready for the dryer Otra Vez...

Slowly coming out of my mental reverie I will more often then not find myself back at De Tweede Mijl aka De Tweede Kwijl laddling down a small iron bowl of untasty and bland soup donated by the Albert Heyn Supermarket from around the corner, a few barbequed sausages that taste only slightly better since they originate from the slightly more expensive Jumbo supermarket in the nearby Westerstraat...I'm surrounded by the homeless and street junks, alcoholics that have nothing better to do but wait for their next paycheck from the local social wellfare department...

Maybe another couple of hours at the Anne Frank House before returning to my friends from the other side...loud music doesn't scare them away but will give me serious problems with my neighbors, gallons of Red Wine are no serious deterrent to these crazy Phra Phum either, they all happen to be great swimmers, burning down the house is no option and will only result in a homeless state of life for me and most likely serious bodily injuries to my aforementioned neighbors...

Yeah, lets get back to my little one-man streetselling spot, lets return to my Plekkie if front of the ever longer queue in front of the Anne Frank House, make more D'argent, Mas Dinero for the Hot Mommas in this world, a different way of foreign aid...