Rob The Toilet Man and three young fans

I am quite used in these sunny summer days to vsits of, let say, all ways of life, maybe Rob The Toilet Man whose eyes betray to me the mere fact that he is on speed - the drug of choise of Herman Brood, the Dutch singer, entertainer and artist but also best well-known junkie of Holland and long since deceased - big huge dark shiners and a bodily smell radiating all the way into the most famous house of the Amsterdam Prinsengracht, probably four or five days of crapping his dirty blue jeans pants, all over the place mentally but still trying hard to making his case, basically wanting another five not-so-doomed-Euros-these-days for cheap beer from the nearby Albert Heyn supermarket, never mind the stuff is undrinkable in its lukewarm state...at least is is cheap and contains alcohol...

I give him his cherished five Euro, even when it is just to be rid of him...would rather have these young international young fans to keep me company here in front of the exit of the world famous Achterhuis while making and selling Indian Games by the sackfull.