I’m still a bit sick. Bear with me.
So there we are in Amsterdam. TC, a bonafide pot head, in near Nirvana when the coffeeshop clerk opened a drawer filled with little bags of weed. Just my luck. Later in the day, I’m walking down the street. I’m carrying a “HeadShop” plastic bag, inside a glass bong, 5 grams of greenhouse grown Dutch pot and the local gay scene magazine.
Chris starts giggling. What? “Boy, Chris – if your wife could see you now, what would she think”. He continues to chuckle. He’ll redeem his points in punishment from me later.
But where am I exactly on this journey out? Midway? Halfway? Is there any difference? I’m starting that think this process has chapters, perhaps even volumes and I can’t help but try and peek over the horizon.
TC slept last night at his old apartment. His former flatmates are moving themselves at the end of the month. They had a little party for “sentinmental” reasons to mourn this ending. I’m screaming GAYYYYYY in my mind.