Amsterdam, 10 july 2014.
Late at night and returning home, big waves of disappointment have washed over my fellow Dutch country men, Adios and goodbye to Hup Holland Hup in Samba Land - thanks be to the Gods of football land for that - , maybe a consolation match but then these ever really count, now do they, finally got rid of these darned nightly bicycle trips back home from Stev's place, finally time again to devote to my one-man mobile Mandala shop, up early cutting my expensive silver wire, preparing for another day at that Numero Uno hotspot the anne Frank House underneath that Mokum landmark called the protestant Westerchurch, looking down on Hans The Nutcase Streetseller...
No more distractions like fabled soccer matches, Robben and Van Persie trying so hard but in vain to inmortalise themselves, Hunterlaar the hunter having capital punishment plans on his fustrated mind for not participating, for being the eternal bencher, Pas De Chance for doing his thing on the green Brazilian field of the game of all games...
Yeah, another sortie back home at one thirty in the frigging morning from Amsterdam Buitenveldert, a city full with half drunk soccer fan f*ckers lookiing for an outlet to disappointment and fake denied hope on the mundial title of f*cked-up deception, worthy of rioting...
But no, Nada of all this crap, instead a young blonde on pumps wanting a ride home, all the way back to Spaarndaamerstraat, what a coincidence or else the Gods challenging me and throwing some more crappy Kharma improvement shit on my way...
Sweating hard work with a double load but who cares, Kharma improvement is worth a couple of drops of beer drenched perperation after all...
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