Back to the days of rain, back to days of financial insecurities causing me momentary lapses of sanity, too much worrying about my bills, the rent is due, gas and light have got to be paid, the mad life of a dedicated street seller trying hard to make a decent living, paying his taxes but getting hardly any feedback...
I am an agent of chaos but at least I have enough D'Argent for some nutriiouc food back at the local supermarket though the appearance of Rob, The King Of My Toilet I usually like to call him due to his habit of raping my toilet bowl with his incessant bouts of alcoholic diarhea, does not amuse me...quite the opposite, maybe a night in the house alone with my jars of paint will quit the worrysome state of my mental health... but no a five crumbled Euro note is pushed into my hands with a hastily demand to buy him the cheapest bag of tabacco, his watery half drunk eyes on the queue...
A bag of Samson tabacco in my hand, waiting for Rob standing in the queue and calling to me in strong Amsterdam voice to buy some dope from the nearby coffee shop, screaming after me about that 150 kilo African hooker he picked up last night downtown for 150 Euro, a Euro a kilo and that for a all nighter...bemused faces in the supermarket queue follow my fast disappearing frame...
Shit three times in arow, the man knows no shame whatsoever, nor does he have any carnal frontiers...
The Eoru crisis might be back full on, world markets in an uproar again but the local street alcoholic Rob, aka The King Of My Toilet, still counts his dough by the kilo, black and meaty!!!
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