Centraal Station

Here I am, in the Christian hostel, the Shelter Jordan; there's a loony on the piano; just a couple minutes ago he was blasting his ghetto-ass tape recorder; there's no weed allowed here; out of sight, out of mind - thank you very much. I met some Japanese guys at Homegrown Fantasy at the dam - it was pretty funny, and they had a bong; it was a funny sight, all these stoned Japanese dudes. Amsterdam is great, a great big habitat, a giant small city. It's all chill; they open when they want, but hey, wouldn't you? Everywhere there's smoking, though not as much as you'd expect. There's a coffeeshop round every corner, though, at least wherever there are tourists. Or even where they aren't. After all, Amsterdam isn't that big, and the trams take you pretty much where you have to go.

I've just spent the last couple days with my brother, which has been fairly awesome. Meeting up with old friends who disapprove quietly of how much I smoke is kind of nice, too. I think I might get a picture of my brother and his girlfriend and put it on my wall; they're such a cute couple. Maybe I'll frame my picture of Dragana, too; flings in foreign countries are always kind of cool, even if they're a little more played up than I imagined, or will confabulate about. It was all in good fun, I suppose. Fun is always important, man, and it always makes things worth it. So there, I suppose, you go.

But now back to Amsterdam. It snowed today, and I'm bound to ramble. We went to Haarlem, as well as some market in de Pijp; it was supposed to be important. Ah well. Whatever, it was cool. I had frijtes. They were fries, only really awesome. Just because, well, everything is awesome.

Ok, now I think I've run out of steam, so fuck it. I mean, hell, fuck it. Fuck it I'm going to have a ciggie. Or not. And fucking sleep. And that'll be awesome. I mean, seriously.