We ran amuck together in Amsterdam, where the prostitutes wiggle as you pass their windows and smoke makes people giggle and paranoid.
There was a series of strange events,
psychadelic and transluscent.
We bonded on the balcony, as we threw empty bottles on to an empty highway – screaming as they crashed.
Marilyn Monroe (or was it Madonna?) swept up the shattered glass. We howled like children, didn’t care about the damage we could have done.
We didn’t care about a lot back then.
Later, a fat lady was raised from her bed – ambulances and fire engines lined up outside. We hung our heads out and wolf-whistled at the men in uniform. She was so fat she couldn’t get out of bed – and no, I verified with other witnesses, this wasn’t a dream – it was this crazy, eventful night.
I saw you a few years later – you looked shocked to see me, facing me as I walked through the door. Instinct I think it was…and it was instinct that made me question your glance.
You had a look of discomfort in your eyes, shame, like you wished I weren’t there. I said hello, you gave a short reply and forced a smile. I noticed your eyes had changed and your lip looked sore.
I knew something was up…and it was.
