You are seated by your lonesome at a table for two in the center of a packed restaurant, twenty eight years

of age, hair fastened in a short ponytail. The vacant chair across from you is about the only empty seat in the house. All the other thick wooden tables around you are packed with hectic families, loud parties and intimate couples, drinking beer from tall one liter glasses, while you sip on your orange juice. A lanky blonde waitress, dressed in a tight black miniskirt and white apron, carries a loaded tray over to the family seated at the neighboring table. Without a hint of a smile, she quickly unloads plates of beef and potato stew, rench!fries and baked potatoes. "he serves glasses of #rolsch beer to the adults, a bottle of $eineken to their teenaged son and soft drinks to their young, then rushes off and disappears back into the kitchen. A second, tall, fla%en and similarly dressed waitress unloads a cargo of Tuborg at another table, where a group of adolescents are interacting in a hormone dripping fren&y, so typical for feeble, youthful egos. "he then quickly picks up the empty glasses and hurries over to another table, from which a middle aged man has been signaling her with the length of his arm. A sudden chill runs up your spine. rom the depth of your basecamp, your eyes scramble up a white aproned slope, only to encounter the nippy ga&e of a skinny, black haired waitress, all the way at the snowy peak. 'Wat wilt u eten()* she inquires, without even the slightest of efforts to hide her agitated disposition. +epentantly, you fumble for the menu, quickly riffle through it, yet find yourself at an utter loss for having been blit&ed into facing all those awfully long and incoherent ,utch words. A woman signals from across the room and your kelnerin2 sighs and leaves your side. The first waitress e%its the kitchen, tray again overloaded with potato based dishes and tall glasses of beer. You close the menu and utter a soft sigh of your own.
* /

What do you want to eat( -,utch. Waitress -,utch.

'Zo, Weet u al wat u wilt eten()0 snaps that impatient voice from above once again. "tartled, you point at a random dish and grin apologetically. 1nly once the inimical girl snatches the menu from your hand and strides off do you finally get to sink back into your detached state of mind. You e%it the restaurant, stopping at the top of the stairs in order to light yourself a roll! up cigarette. Through the large window across the street, you can see an old man watching T2 in the darkness of his living room, invaded only by a flickering bluish hue. You put on your woolly hat, fasten your light jacket and head down the stairs and into the obscure embrace of the evening. 3n another window, a young couple is having an argument for the whole world to see. All of a sudden, the man starts screaming at the woman, who breaks down in tears and storms out of their living room. The snappy ringing of a bell yanks you back into reality, just as a couple of bikes whi& across the bicycle path you absentmindedly happened to be striding on. The rough paving stones brush against the soles of your feet. You fight against the wind, which fiercely fights back, tossing discarded plastic bags at your legs. These bags cling to your jeans for a second, holding as tightly as they can, then get blown further down the alley, towards the busy 4c,onald5s at its far end. +ounding a corner, you mingle with the crowd filling the 1udegracht, the main pedestrian artery at the antiquated center of 6trecht. This old canal is wide and calm, hosting small, docked boats and even smaller, undocked ducks in perfect harmony. 7hained, locked and secured to the railings on both sides of the canal are do&ens of bicycles of all colors, makes and si&es. A multitude of small caf8s, shops and bars illuminate the street, most of which built into walls of brown and white bricks, stone archways and narrow doorways. olks all around are either drinking beer or strolling along the canal aimlessly, armed with laden shopping bags labeled 29,, 49" and suchlike, while being watched by other folks from the comfort of their flowery balconies.

"o, do you know what you want to eat( -,utch.

Another snappy ringing of a bell sends you jolting away from the bicycle path you happened to stroll into again. 'Idioot,) shouts a youngster, chauffeuring a generously cleavaged girl on the back of his bike, as he whi&&es by and disappears around a corner. $ands in your pockets and legs pushing against the wind, you continue strolling down the 1udegracht, till you come across a beer garden at its lower, murkier end. This beer garden is jam!packed, playing host to an ageless horde of merrymakers, and decorated with countless beer glasses, bottles and cans. There5s a small vacant table at the far end, yet this state of uproarious laughter, yelling, growling and proosting doesn5t attract you one bit. 3nstead, you sit on a stone step across the street from it, pull out a pack of ,rum and start rolling yourself another cigarette. :lastic bags keep blowing back and forth, as a couple of identical teenaged twin! towers, blonde, adorable and well groomed, pass you by. A phone goes off, and while one twin engages in a conversation, the other one pulls out a makeup kit and starts fi%ing herself up. You smile at her, as she accidentally glances in your direction, but she completely ignores you, picks up her #A: shopping bag, grabs her sister by the arm and walks off. ;ehind you, three drunken men are sailing a small motorboat across the canal, shouting and waving a flag of red, white and blue. They too notice the golden tower twins and make no attempt at keeping their ebullience to themselves. You light up your smoke while attempting to shelter it from the dri&&le, lean against the railing and stare through an open window across the canal, where a naked man is leaning against his railing, smoking a joint and staring right back at you,. At the end of the 1udegracht stands the ,om, an enormous #othic tower and the symbol of the city. ;eing the tallest church tower in the whole of the <etherlands, it soars more than a hundred meters into the purple sky. <ot far from it, at the entrance to a dark alley, several men are huddled in front of a couple of red lit windows, howling, growling and radiating testosterone.

3n front of the ,om stands a small coffeeshop, with a real life!si&e Terminator cop guarding its doors, a grin across his malicious face and a big fat joint hanging off the side of his mouth. You stop by its entrance, from which light and warmth are projected onto this otherwise shadier part of the canal. =eaning against one of the many bikes double chained to the railing, you wipe the marks of light rain off your face and stare at the awe! inspiring tower. 'Wat is dit nu?)> demands a stern, mid!aged woman, as she5s crossing the street, sheltered by her dripping purse, and stops to stare right at you. +emorsefully, you step away from the bike you happened to be leaning against, allowing her to release both chains and ride it off, cursing under her breath. <othing much left for you to do but to mount your own ancient, rusty bicycle and ride across the uneven cobblestones, over the small bridge and into the rainy night. ??? ;ehind the counter stands a chubby, reddish and balding fellow in a loosely buttoned $awaiian shirt, reading a newspaper. ;ehind him are rows upon rows of small carton bo%es, marked with labels such as @"uper "kunk5 and @White Widow5. :iles of ready! made joints, pipes of every possible si&e and water pipes of every imaginable shape line the rest of the shelves. +ight outside the coffeeshop, a real life si&e Terminator cop is getting soaked by the rain, as the doorbell rings and you enter, rather drenched yourself. 1nce you5ve hang your light jacket by the door, you approach the counter, where the vendor has meanwhile folded his newspaper and is smiling at you. 'Goede avond,)A you retaliate with a smile of your own. 'Goede avond, he replies. 'Wat wil je roken?6 'Super Skunk, alstublieft, voor Tien gulden.)B
> A

What is this( -,utch. #ood evening -same. C What do you want to smoke( -same. B "uper "kunk, please, for ten guilders -same.

'Aha, the good stuffD) he says, pulling a &ip bag out of one of the carton bo%es and holding it for your nose to inspect the authoritative skunky aroma. As you pay the man with a crisp tenner, the doorbell rings twice and in walks a most attractive blonde, with bosom so heavy it is nearly busting out of a simple blue sweater, under a long trench coat, which she now hangs beside your own jacket. 'Goede avond, Saskia,) you greet here, as she shakes the rainwater out of her adorable cupid curls in slow motion. '$i,) she says cheerfully, walks over and kisses you on the cheek. 'Thought 3 might find you here.) The two of you grab a table and enjoy shooting the bree&e, while the vendor resumes reading his newspaper. "he tears a strip of cartoon off the lid of her cigarette bo% and rolls you a filter, while you complete a perfectly engineered joint with one hand only, light it up and pass it over to her. '3 just broke up with +ob,) she professes. '35m just fed up with typical ,utch!boys.) '+ob( Your boyfriend() you inquire, somewhat slyly. 'E%!boyfriendF) she declares, with a somewhat sly smile of her own. '7are for a cup of coffee() she adds, passing the joint back to you. 'Ga, graag. Twee kopjes koffie, alstublieft, you address the vendor, who willingly puts his newspaper aside. '"ure, coming right up,) he replies, and pours two big cups of filtered coffee, while you pass the joint back to "askia, who takes a lungy drag off it. '7an5t say 35m all too surprised about you and +ob,) you say, 'nor too disappointed, for that matter.) '1h, you5re such a devil,) she giggles, while the vendor brings your coffees over. '$ere you go,) he says. '#ood old ,utch coffee.) 'Well, if it ain5t ,utchD) you initiate with a smile. 'D3t ain5t muchF) she picks it up where you left off, and the three of you laugh pleasantly, as the rain outside finally comes to an end.

Yes, thanks. Two cups of coffee, please -,utch.

You happen to be perfectly comfortably high, have a gorgeous girl on the back of your trusty bike and are thinking to yourself I what a wonderful world. The wind blows through your loosely fastened hair, as you speed down the bicycle lane, along a dark vacant road, take the bridge in a storm and slide back into the bicycle path that runs along yet another canal, with her arms holding you tight. Jnowing this route by heart, you slow down a bit and find yourself overtaken by the very same youngster who almost ran you over earlier, with the same generously cleavaged girl on the back of his bike. '!oei,) shouts "askia. '!oei,) replies the girl. ';etter watch out for the curveF) you shout against the wind. 'WhaD) replies the youngster, just as you skillfully take the curve, while the two of them are thrown off their bike and go rolling across the muddy lawn. The inside of your small room looks like a tiny 3JEA showroom. The futon bed, the desk, a couple of chairs, one small closet and even the lamp are all of similar origin. "tanding on a "wedish rag in the middle of the room, you embrace "askia5s warm body, taking in the soft odor of her skin, and the two of you kiss passionately. The palms of your hands gently surf the delightful curves of her body, riding the waves of her waist, rounding the swell of her buttocks, until finally grabbing a firm hold at the base, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her over to the bed. ;y the time you throw her onto the futon, "askia is on fire and nearly tears your shirt off, as she feverishly undresses you. A masterful hand dives under the covers of her sweater, undoes her bra, and the two most perfectly round, full and firm breasts you5ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in person pop out for a breath of fresh air. At that moment, there5s a knock on the door. '"a,) says "askia, without being the least bashful. The door swings open, revealing the tower twins in the flesh, as adorable and well groomed as when you first saw them by the entrance to that beer garden. They both giggle, but remain standing there, as half naked "askia stealthily rises from the futon bed, slides over to the door and gently funnels them into the room.

You lie back and watch, as "askia guides the girls5 hands over to her perfect breasts, and the three begin to kiss passionately. "he begins to undress one of the gorgeous twins, while the other disengages and slowly steers over to the bed, unbuttoning her shirt with a naughty smile across her childish face. "he then kneels down and reaches for yourD A sudden discharge in the nether regions releases a mental anchor, which forces an unfortunate ascent back to the surface of reality. "askia and the twins reach out for you in languish, yet quickly fade away into the mist of your mind. With a burst of the cold gust of reality you come up for air, perspiring and all alone inside your tiny, dusky room. You sit up on your futon mattress, shivering slightly, in an attempt to shake away the threads of that sweet dreamK a dream which only ever serves to bring out the bitterness of reality. 'W#at is t#is pla$e I dare $all #o%e?) you wonder. '&nd w#o is t#is person residing t#ere?) Your underwear is sticky, but you5re not bothered. 3nstead, you roll over to the side of the bed, semi!automatically stuff the narghile with a mi%ture of "uper "kunk and ,rum, light it up with a shaky hand, suck on the snaky pipe and blow your mind into bits of misery and despair. ??? Wearing the very same light jacket and ragged pair of jeans, now also somewhat mud stained from the previous evening5s puddly bike ride, you descend the wide marble staircase of the student house where you currently reside. 1n your way down, you come across your pretty neighbor "askia, dressed in a blue sweater that can barely contain all that she5s got to offer. "he is sturdily carrying her bike up the stairs and wordlessly passes you by without as much as a sign of recognition. ,ownstairs, you grab your rusty bicycle from among the many chained and secured pairs parked in the foyer and head out the door, into yet another gray and dump day.

Armed with a plastic bag not even half full with your weekly groceries for the worry! free bachelor, you step into the buffer &one between the Albert $eijn supermarket and the $oog 7atharijne shopping center, light up a smoke and simply remain standing there, while everyone else around you is rushing to and fro this or that. inally, you put out the butt and enter the shopping center. All around, shop after shop offer meaning and purpose to a life of mindless laborK stuff for purchaseK trophies to make you feel a winnerK pri&es for the fastest ratK for the hardest working little ant. You pass by a wall, lined with little compartments, offering a variety of snacks, from purple kebabs to dry mini!burgers, secured behind rows of tiny shafts. You sink a two and a half gulden coin into the slot, open the compartment and pull out a single kroket'( ;iting into the kroket, you feel something gooey and warm dripping down your chin, shiver for a sudden homophobic association and are quick to swallow. 4oments later, and you are lined up at the )atat *riet stand for a portion of )atat %et, which translates as @french!fries with5, which in turn translates as fries with mayonnaise. "itting at a small caf8 on the outer limits of the $oog 7atharijne, you sip lukewarm percolated coffee and watch the stringy passersby, hiding inside their drench coats, struggling to make their purposeful ways against the will of the windK tramping down on the graceful dances of plastic bags in their hasty strides. At the table to your right, a bold, muscular man in his fifties and a shriveled up woman with henna colored hair, are sucking down Amstel beer and staring at a 4oroccan family, as they pass in front of the caf8. All dressed in their customary, colorful te%tile, the head of the family is in the lead, followed by three round featured wives, face veiled and dragging behind them a whole bunch of kids. The bold man barks something at his wife, out of which you only manage to catch the word @buitenlander5,*L though judging from his sour e%pression, it sure ain5t praises this mysterious buitenlander is receiving. $is wife replies, ga&ing at the foreigners with an evil eye, and for once you5re grateful for not being able to understand much ,utch.

M *L

ried finger food made of potato and minced chicken oreigner -,utch.

'Yes sir, 3 do believe 3Nm most qualified for the job,) echoes the voice of the lofty red headed waitress leaning against the counter behind you, as she5s speaking on her mobile phone, completely oblivious to the world around her. You attempt signaling for the check, but she simply does not notice you. '"ure, your office, 4onday morning, nine A4. 3Nll be there, you betchaF) she notices you at last, yet continues to ignore your efforts to liberate yourself from the company of the friendly couple to your right, who by now are literally growling at the 4uslims. inally, you can no longer bare the vibe, get up and approach the waitress yourself. 'Thank you, sir. $ave a pleasant weekend, sir. "a, dag,) she concludes and hangs up. As if by magic, her smile vanishes, as she looks down at you reproachfully, without even the slightest of efforts to hide her agitated disposition. '+T is a$#t ta$#tig,) she then demands, but you shrug and remain standing there, sweating under the stare of the two antisocial nationalistsK made inglorious by the sons of +eich. 'That5s eight eighty, please,) she finally utters impatiently, collects the money and walks off with an air of a martyr. As you leave the caf8, you can literally feel the eyes of that couple, as they attempt to burn holes in the back of your head. "heer vacancy makes this laundry room even wider than it actually is. White paint is peeling off the walls and the old washer and dryer in the center of the room appear to be caught in a web of laundry lines, baring somewhat strange, moist fruits. The stripped down centrifugal dryer is dancing around, in a mostly futile effort to squee&e a bit of water out of your clothes. You lean against the wall and watch its rocking and jolting, to the sound of some of your native music, playing out of a pair of small speakers sitting on the windowsill. '"itting in "an rancisco by the water, rinsing my eyes with blue and greenD) ** says the chorus to a popular tune, just as this tall and dark young man enters the room, carrying a laundry basket. You smile at him and greet him with a gesture of the hand, but he just turns his head back, without as much as a sign of recognition.
**

OPQRSP TPUVS WRRXRYZ [\ ]^P_ ,WR`Z TY POaRaXQb!caS S_PR

'!e buitenlander is nog steed #ier,)*/ he informs a secret agent, hidden somewhere beyond the boundaries of the laundry room. '-ke .ob, bedankt,)*0 echos "askia5s voice, as +ob picks a few se%y penties, a couple of huge bras and a T!shirt off one of the clothes lines and wordlessly leaves the room. '...3t5s pretty here in "an rancisco by the water,)*> continues the chorus, as you let out a soft sigh. '"o, how come 3 feel so very far away()*A "inking back into a detached state of mind, you then resume watching the dryer, as it is performing its jolty swan dance.

*/ *0

The foreigner is still here -,utch. 1kay +ob, thanks -same. *> WR`Z TY POaRaXQb caS ZbR *A OPUQ _RdQ` RX\_ Ze fR\ e\(