Leaving on a Jetplane

Well, my time in Europe is done. As we speak, I’m at the hotel waiting on the car to take me to the airport. Small problem, though–I have no idea when the car is getting here.
Either way, here are a couple of interesting nuggets I forgot to mention before.

This is the greatest t-shirt ever. Just had to buy it.

Amsterdam, baby. Good enough for the Messiah. Good enough for me.
At a train station on the way back from Amsterdam, I saw a dude drill his lady in the mouth outta nowhere. I was a few inches a way from the cat, alongside him on the moving sidewalk, and he just belted her. I’ve never been so confused. On one level, somebody had to make sure he didn’t do it again. On another, I didn’t think that guy should’ve been me. I felt like a sucker, but I’d do the same thing if such a situation presented itself again. As cliche´ as it sounds, domestic disputes are to be resolved by the police. No telling what buddy would have done to me…and to her as a result of my meddling.
***
While sitting on a bench in Amsterdam, an obviously blasted man decided to speak to me.
“Africa, what are you on?”
He didn’t say that, did he? That’s what I thought to myself.
“Africa, coke or ecstasy?”
I told him I was sober, and I was.
“Oh, Africa, come on. African-American, right?”
I told him yes. I don’t remember the rest. I couldn’t believe this cat called me Africa.
***
Heard some dude on the street in Amsterdam loudly refer to me as a nigger. Wasn’t talking to me, but he was talking about me. The natural inclination was to pop him in the mouth. The more natural inclination, though, was to count. Buddy was rolling about five deep. I’d neither have anyone to bail me out of jail nor come see me in the hospital. ‘Twas time to just keep it moving. This is another moment when I felt like a sucker, but options or recourse were few.
***
Went to Buckingham Palace yesterday. I’ll upload photos when I get home, but it was a wasted trip. The gate was really pretty, but that’s all there was for me.
***
Drove past Brixton on the way into London from the airport. Brixton is the ‘hood here, immortalized by The Clash’s dope-as-all-get-out “Guns in Brixton” on London Calling. Couldn’t see too much from the street, but it looked to be jokeless. I’d have liked to go through the neighborhood, but I have a rule about rolling through unfamiliar ‘hoods without a local. Didn’t feel like making any donations to the local underground economy.
***
These Europeans do some good stuff with bread. I’m going to miss the croissants.
***
Googly, Amsterdam’s the best.
***
I must have walked a few miles a day while I was here. Vacation is a workout, jack.
***
Going to a wedding in Pittsburgh this weekend. Should be some interesting drunken photos from that one. Soccer Dave is signing his soul over, but his fiancee is real good peoples. Again, little is as good as knowing that your buddy has come up in the marriage game. And he knows it, meaning he’ll act right.
***
We’ll talk more when I hit the ground.