you want the good first, and the bad second?
never mind, you're going to get
the bad first...

so there i was,
sitting in the street, outside a pub,
sipping a cool drench
of heineken pint, probably
the best beer in the world
(i'd agree with the carlsberg ad.,
but then it's featherweight
at 3.8%... so dear dane?
probably no... stick with
shakespeare... you *******
umlaut wannabe (ø) diphtong)...
so i was sitting there
with some dutch-bewilderment,
a local...
  out pops a skinny kenyan
and starts ******* in front of us...
sure, he's ******* against
the dumpster,
  but the dutch-bewilderment
glaces at me and his eyes
are already saying to me:
worth a knife or a stick,
to clobber the ******* down,
i've lost the desire to drink
my beer...
         centre of amsterdam,
i was wackoed out of the pub
by sheer: huh?!
     i admit, not all stories are bad,
the other time, i was sharing
a hostel room with two germans,
who decided to waste
a mushroom experience while
watching *american dad...
while me and this egyptian
architecture student hit the town...
i was drinking, he was
smoking,
   then i took a **** at one of his
"special moment" rollies...
and then he said,
   put these on (headphones),
listen to this music...
the music? le trio joubran,
the song? masar...
     i was drinking throughout
the day... but one **** of
the rollie, and the music?
            **** me, the dam bursts...
i was sitting there,
in one of the cafes,
  mouth open, eyes closed,
one or two dutch girls looking,
my egyptian companion said...
     it must have been akin
to someone shooting up ******...
with my eyes closed i must have
been looking at god,
  or a diamond, or into a kaleidoscope;
gravity fused itself with my genitals...
i was dragged into my seat...
  and couldn't move,
eyes closed, mouth agape,
      monged out of my nuts,
which by this moment in chronological
order, was beyond the chance to orbit
saturn and take a selfie...
  the holy trinity of an excess
of *****, some marijuana,
   and music you've never heard
before, suggested by a stranger...
last thing i remember was walking
through the streets of amsterdam,
laughing my head off...

when i consider reviving memories
of cities i usually have several
version to mind...
the first amsterdam i went to was so:
.............................
........................
...............................
a boring trip, i bought two pipes,
a classical pipe, and this asian pipe...
the second amsterdam?
         was this the amsterdam where
i visited a *****?
can't remember...
  amsterdam no. 3?
             i think that's the amsterdam
account i just gave...
    never mind the minor thrill
of "smuggling" a few grams of hash
through the airport,
  in a biscuit can...
                a bit like plagiarising
that sociology essay, just inviting
the thesaurus to change the sentence
structure at university...
for the thrill, not for the grade...
  evidently a.i. isn't familiar with
the thesaurus cheat mode...
  **** me...got a first in that essay,
and managed to beat the computers;
oh yeah, smuggled the hash in...
it wasn't a lot, barely an 8th of an ounce,
fact of the matter is, i did it;
that being said,
  i have no romance with amsterdam,
i just miss paris...
      i'm never going back,
the memories are too precious...
              that hostel... duck something,
drowning duck? drunk duck?
    i can't remember...
   i'm never going back to paris,
the memories are too precious,
and the current affairs are too painful
to make that city a beacon of light
once more...
   we showered in the outside,
and we made courgette pasta with onions
garlic, bacon and cream...
    but that was 2005 or so.
       for some reason, i never had the sort
of affection for amsterdam,
            great for smoking,
great for drinking,
   great for not feeling guilty about
window-shopping prostitutes:
   with that victorian-feminism attitude
of the brits...
     hey! you're cutting the chivalry costs
of paying for the meal: back to basics...
  stochholm? over-priced...
      you'd probably become intoxicated
quicker, having downed a bottle of *****
you bought at the airport,
  and then drinking your own ****,
than you would, while drinking at the swedes'
americana experiment with pseudo-prohibition
tactics...
    how are you going to keep warm?
fat ain't furr... but sure as ****,
alcohol numbs the biting cold,
    no matter how you think about it
in describing it as a placebo effect...
                    it still warms the poles
in the outdoors, esp. when a person dies
in winter, and they have their stypa /
   wake drinking session in the graveyard.

i just can't forget that look of disgust
from the dutch guy sitting next to me,
drinking his beer,
   without our shared canvas, of an african
******* in the street, against
a dust-bin;

as borat would have said...
                     *mmm das nnnnnnniiiiiiice.