Every day I eat lard. It's some kind of hunger attack, literally. Even more correctly, every night. In me, a glutton awakens, and he whispers to me "eat lard, Kat, eat it." In this case, morning surprises in the form of exacerbations of all my stomach diseases along with pain, I absolutely do not mind.
In general, I want to go to the Netherlands for a couple of weeks, I remembered today my wonderful stay there, and I really wanted to repeat it.
For some reason, the first thing I remember is mandarins, suddenly they are. Another smoking on the balcony at night, Radio "Rocks", bed, shower, the smell of coffee soap, green jacket, yogurt, dinners, our wild wild laughter about and without. Amsterdam, Amsterdam, I'll come back to you again, and you'll be kinder to me, not like in the summer, let's make it up, forgive each other all the grievances, I'll sit with the cigarette and Billy Holiday in your park again and I will be badly sing with my terrible in a smoky voice, until no one hears.
I miss the small bars of Amsterdam, the espresso, air that breathes there, by language and people, after all.
