With a pang in my heart

Amsterdam.

I feel quite determined about my plans to go jogging in Westerpark in just a few more hours when I walk down the street to the Albert Heyn supermarket. Just out of habit I decide to walk a bit around the Blokhutten Complex first, an area of prefabricated student houses at the end of my neighborhood.

If it wouldn`t be for the views acroos the river I could still go there to check on the garbage - always interesting stuff these rich student kids throw away - as well as for unlocked bicycles. Most of these students come from small catholic provincial villages or are on foreign exchange programm and have no clue as to the bicycle theft and resell trade here in the "big" city.

No interesting stuff in the garbage and no expensive bikes but Maarten and Klein, two alcoholis and junks from the neighborhood, on their way to an abandoned lot where they wanna grow poppies as they proudly tell me showing me the seeds contained in a small transperent coffee shop provided hashish bag.

They offer me a beer and accepting this Can Of Evil I realise with a pang in my heart that there will be no jogging in Westerpark today but more of where that not all that elusive stuff came from...I can see from Klein`s bulking backpack that there are still several Cans Of Evil that will have to go down our thirsty throats this sunny day.

I see no reason to help these two street people seed their poppie seeds, water the ground with dirty poluted dish water from the river...instead I drink my Can Of Evil....luke-warm beer that does havoc to my still empty belly....I play a bit with Woef The Dog that has been adopted by Klein after Jackeline`s - The dog`s former mistress - messy death of cancer a few years back.

Mentally I wonder about how strange life can be....less than a week ago I was still at the other side of the world in the company of Thai Hot Mommas that were vying for my attention, good sex and tasty food, cold Leo beer and tranquility ruled my life with relaxed conversations late at night in front of the 7/Eleven with the Dutch expats, and now I sit here in a sunny but still crisp Amsterdam drinking luke-warm beer that does havoc to my belly and in the company of drunks who have no future but a mouth full of rotting teeth, bad clothes and even worse health.