Amsterdam

Amsterdam. Where young men get so trashed they can’t get it up for the prostitutes, where they piss in their beds and over the dorm room walls and then jerk off and fail to clean up their spunk from the girl’s toilet cubicles. Then do it all again the next night. Bless their little hearts, they’re having fun.

Sadly the prostitutes decided I wasn’t a punter and looked past me with boredom. They answered their phones, chewed gum and didn’t even bother to wiggle their hips. Who is to say that beneath my thermals and fleecy and fun Nepalese beanie there isn’t a raving cashed up nymphomaniac? I come to Amsterdam, I don’t get completely trashed, I don’t piss on the streets, in my bed or in a room I share with twelve other people. I also clean up after myself. They could at least feign interest.

To soothe my wounded pride I consumed large quantities of Vlammes Frites…..

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Read a volume of Terra Australis, scouted bookshops for a good read…

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Walked through Amsterdam parks, avoided being run over by bikes and looked in windows…

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