That afternoon I cruised over to Bloem. It seemed like months since I had been there. I brought my day bag with my camera, dugout, sketch book, and pens. It was mid-afternoon and Nina was there, her laptop open at the end of the bar next to the sink. Daniel was standing next to her wearing ear buds, listening to whatever Nina was playing for him. Daniel saw me and took out the ear buds. He handed them to me, “Here, Michael, see what you think.” I put the buds into my ear and listened as Nina looked at me expectantly. I heard thumping, an electronic beat with heavy bass, minimalist techno or house. It sounded good. I removed the ear buds and handed them to Nina. “So, what do you think?” I said, “I’d love listening to that while shrooming. Who’s the DJ?” Nina proudly beamed. “Me. Part of a mix I’m making for a competition in a couple of weeks. You should come. Daniel’s coming, too.”
Daniel was organizing glasses behind the bar. “I am?” Nina adopted her angry voice and said, “Yes, you’re coming. We talked about this.” Daniel nonchalantly waved a hand, “Okay. Let me know when and where.” Nina gesticulated wildly. “I wrote it down for you, Daniel!” I could see the corners of Daniel’s mouth slightly curl before they settled back into a ho-hum state of utter boredom. “Oh. Okay.” Nina was earning her nickname, The Angry Lesbian. “Do you still have the paper?” Daniel shrugged and turned away to inventory. “Oh, I suppose it’s somewhere.”
I laughed as I put my bag down on the bar and took a seat next to Nina. She was still brewing, but she put on her headphones and went back to her music. “The coast is clear, Daniel.” He turned to me, smirking. “It’s too easy with her.” I shook my head, chuckling, “You’re evil.” Daniel poured me a beer as I went to the rack to hang up my coat and day bag. I pulled out my camera, though, before walking back to the bar. Daniel went to gather glasses and dishes from the tables and put them down near the sink. They were right next to each other. Perfect.
As I sat down in front of my beer, I aimed the camera at them and snapped a shot. They both looked up and said, “Hey!” as if I had slapped them on the ass. I laughed and looked at the image. Daniel had his eyes closed, unfortunately. “That one didn’t turn out. Let me take one more.” They protested meagerly, but I insisted. Neither changed positions much. Nina adjusted her hair and Daniel stood at the bar. I snapped the shot and looked at it. A decent shot, as good as I was going to get because they weren't going to give me another chance. I showed them the photo. They both nodded, mild approval, then went back to doing their thing.
I asked Nina how her classes were going before she put her headphones on again. She didn’t look up from the computer, but said, “Fine.” Okay, a conversation with Nina was out. She was too busy mixing. I asked Daniel how he was doing. “Okay. It’s been slow today, though.” I said, “Well, I’ll give you something to do.” I looked at the menu and ordered a vegetable salad with peanut sauce. Daniel went back to make it—Dorlan wasn’t in yet.
Daniel returned with my salad and poured me another beer. “Hey, Nina, you want anything to drink? It’s on me.” She continued staring at her laptop and said no. Just as I was thinking that I was getting bored—something that rarely happened in Amsterdam—Daniel asked me if I wanted to take a trip with him to the Nieuwe Zijde to look at specialty beers. I perked up. He said Isa and the owner of Bloem would be in soon and we could bike over.
When the owner arrived, Daniel introduced me. He was a tall man, a bit overweight, and balding. Daniel said something to him in Dutch and the owner turned and shook my hand vigorously with a broad smile that made him look younger than his years. I wasn’t sure what was said, but it was obviously something good about me. Daniel and I said goodbye to Nina, but she barely looked up. “Yeah, have fun.” I put on my coat and backpack then we went outside, unlocked our bikes, and cycled away.
Riding alongside Daniel was like a cycling version of the Running of the Bulls. He was an adventurous madman zipping in and out of pedestrian, cycling, scooter, car, and tram traffic. Yet, he was nonchalant even though he was racing at breakneck speed. I struggled to keep up, pedaling my ass off just to keep pace with what appeared to be a leisurely ride for him. His face never changed expression and his body language suggested he was completely at ease. Moment to moment it appeared he would crash into someone or something, but at the last second he would make the perfect move to dart out of trouble. The precision of his movements resembled the work of a master craftsman. He was a bicycling performance artist. His approach at every intersection was impeccably timed. We pulled to a stop once on the whole trip across the Oude Zijde to the Nieuwe Zijde. He left not just cyclists in the dust but scooters, too.
I learned to follow his every move, to trust his instincts without question, and I managed to escape danger without a scratch time and time again. I focused so intently I didn’t have time to feel awe. Daniel, meanwhile, talked to me as if we were lounging at Bloem. He told me we were headed to a beer shop called De Gekraakte Ketel (The Cracked Kettle), possibly the finest beer shop in Amsterdam, a world class beer shop with the best selections of beers from all over the beer-brewing world.
“We’re going to meet Jeff, the owner. Andy may be there, too. He's sort of a co-owner, Scottish--possibly crazier than anyone I know. Great guy, though. They both are. Jeff’s quieter, but they both know their beers. Connoisseurs.” What an awesome trip. I loved Daniel; he introduced me to the most fascinating people. Ten years working in the bar/café trade allowed him to meet people from all walks of life. I hadn't had many chances to hang out with Daniel outside of Bloem so I welcomed this adventure. Being able to quiz connoisseurs about great beer selections would be a bonus.
After a harrowing but exhilarating ride, we squeezed down a half street that looked like it was straight out of a Harry Potter movie. We parked our bikes and locked them to one another near a sign that read “Gollem.” I had read about the place, one of the best beer bars in Amsterdam. De Gekraakte Ketel was directly across the street. Daniel led the way and I followed him inside, looking back at Gollem, wanting to whet my whistle after the ride.
When we walked inside De Gekraakte Ketel, my mouth exploded into a smile. If there had been a joint selling arcane beers in a Harry Potter movie, this would have been the place. The walls were filled floor to ceiling with all manner of beers. The sizes and shapes varied as widely as the number in total. I thought there must have been over five hundred varieties within eyesight alone. I could tell there were more around a corner. The store was tiny, in the scheme of things, but magically contained more within it than physics allowed. The ceilings were very high, the walls sagged inward from the top, dark wood was everywhere, including the floors—the areas that could be seen; there were boxes of beers that needed to be unpacked, sorted, and shelved as well. I stepped over a box of beer to follow Daniel. He introduced me to Andy, a shorter guy with a mane of curly black hair reaching down just past his shoulders. He had a three-week stubble-beard growing and lively eyes overlooking dark circles below.
Daniel asked him how he had been and a thick Scottish accent exploded into the room. “Oy, Daniel, the woman, she’s driving me batty. Up all night fuckin’ and suckin’ then she invites her friend over and they start goin’ at it. I’m too spent to give her another wally so I just watch and pull me pecker to jump start ‘im but he’s goin' nowhere fast. Watchin’ ‘em was hot, I’ll say that without qualm, but damn if the woman isn’t going to take me to an early grave. Half past five this mornin’ her friend Maria comes over with ecstasy and we all got goin’ again. Her other friend—don’t even remember her name—was passed out in a tub, but me woman, Maria, and I, damn it to hell if we don’t start banging cherries and cabooses right on top of her. Next thing I know it’s halfway to noon and I’m thinkin’ I got no time for sleep, I'm workin’ a three-day shift, fuckin’ hell if I’m not, but how’m I gonna do it without any candy?”
Andy took a half breath before more music chimed from his throat: “I call me friend Nate but he’s snoggered somewhere in Leiden for crissake so I’m walkin’ on fumes, man, fumes. Wouldn’t you know, though, while I’m stumblin’ to me bike along comes a Sally I remember from the gray days. Sure enough she says she knows where the powders cookin’. I follow her down the zig-zags windin’ to a Seiver, hell if not a dozen, and we go into a fool’s zone, one I didn’t even know exists, but sure enough there it is, a table of it, topless women with breathers baggin’ snow into pouches the size of a tosser's head. I just need to get on the pine, but she fronts me a Wizard of Oz like I’m gonna be tossin’ baseballs for a season. What can I say, though, the clock’s tickin, I’m late as it is, so I says ‘Yeah, sport me a twenty-eight.’ Three bumps later, I’m fresh as a baby’s powdered bum. Half hour late, for sure, but still kickin’ and loaded for sale.”
I understood maybe half of what he said—not because of his accent, but because he spoke twelve words per second. Daniel took all of it in with a smile. “Your woman, she’s the painter, right?” Andy revved up again, “Oh, yeah, she’s the one. All of twenty-three, thinks she’s gonna live forever. She’s got me doin’ drugs I didn’t even know existed, and, hell, maybe they don’t, wouldn’t surprise me at all. What can I do, though? She’s twenty-fucking-three, a motor that won’t quit, and she invites her girlfriends over every fuckin' night. I’m not an old man, 33, but I got gaskets blowin’ and pistons shreddin’, know what I’m tellin' ya? Ah, hell, look who I’m talking to, the fuckin’ dragon slayer. You never age, do ya, ya fuckin’ Dutch Yankee. That boyish charm and crippling cool and you ridin' through the valley of smooth with the hottest hens flockin' to ya from heaven and hell.” Andy looked over at me, “If you ever see a woman turn ’im away then you know it's the end for all of us. Believe it, I'm tellin' ya. Truer words ne’er been spoken.”
Daniel kept smiling the same chill smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Andy, this is my friend, Michael. He’s American, living in Amsterdam.” Andy turned to me, “Ah, another Yank, eh? Well, by God, as long as you drink beer, smoke pot, and fuck women you’ll be all right.” Daniel turned to Andy, “I hate to cut the chit-chat short but I need to get that order straightened out.” Andy nodded his head. “Jeff’s upstairs, I’ll go up with ya.” They both headed toward the back to a steep staircase rising into a tiny opening in the ceiling. Andy turned to me and asked, “You wouldn’t mind watchin’ the store, would ya? ‘T’won’t be long, few minutes tops.” Um … “Yeah, no problem.” I hoped no customers came in because … what the fuck was I going to do? I took a closer look at one of the shelves. The beers had exotic names, exceptional artwork on the labels, dark browns and lights, caps of all colors, origins from different countries.
A few minutes turned into ten minutes fast. A young couple, a man and a woman, maybe thirty years old, walked inside. They nodded at me then gazed at all the beers on the walls. The woman had a guide book in her hand. That made me feel better. At least it wasn’t anyone who came regularly to make purchases. As they looked around the woman turned to me to ask how long the place had been in business. From her accent I guessed she was Australian. I had no fucking idea, but I said, “Oh, the place has been open since the dawn of time. It’s as old as Amsterdam. It wasn’t always a beer slinging joint. For the past three hundred years, though.” The woman asked what the place was before it became a beer tomb. I responded, “That I couldn’t tell you. The truth is in the books somewhere, but there are plenty of stories running about. Some say it was used as a hideout for witches, others that the last elf outside of Iceland lived here before being called home to settle a family dispute. Those are the more outlandish ones, but there are others a bit more plausible. A Spanish noble once lived in these parts and some say this was the house of his mistress. It’s also been said that the first dark-haired Dutch boy was born here. Changed the culture’s identity forever. It's been said that the Dutch proclivity for tolerance began as a result.”
The woman appeared to be fascinated. “Wonderful stories. I love European folklore.” Well, bullshit was a close relative of folklore so I figured I passed on something she could take home to write in her travel diary. Her boyfriend or husband or whatever walked over and asked how many different kinds of beers were for sale. “Your guess is as good as mine. I did the books for years but at a certain point it became overwhelming. I make guesses, but it depends on whether I’m wearing my glasses or not. I’ve got my contacts in right now so I’d say there’s at least a thousand different beers, maybe more if you count those upstairs. We get more all the time. Occasionally we sell some, but mostly we just collect them and admire the way they look on the walls.”
The guy paused, apparently trying to figure out if I was serious. He smiled and said, “Come on, be serious, mate.” I shrugged my shoulders and laughed, “I don’t know the exact number. What I can tell you is that this is the best beer shop in Amsterdam. Hands down.” The man pointed at the woman’s guide book and said, “Yeah, that’s what our travel book says. A museum of beer—except you can actually drink the stuff.” I said, “Provided you pay, of course.” They kept looking closely at different bottles, oohing and ahhing, at different names and different labels. Andy descended the stairs and walked to the couple. He began chatting with them. I listened, admiring how fun-loving, welcoming, and earnest he was as he shared his considerable knowledge about each of the beers that caught their eyes. He steered them toward others as they described their preferences. He was wonderful with them. Andy was truly a man who had found his calling in life.
Daniel came downstairs with another guy who was about Daniel’s height but with blondish hair. I figured it must have been Jeff. They found space on the counter to do some figuring. It looked like Daniel was making a large or complicated purchase. The couple talking with Andy carried an assortment of beers to the counter and Andy added up their purchase. Once Daniel was finished with Jeff—they had been speaking in Dutch—he introduced me. It was a brief introduction, though, as Jeff was busy. Daniel motioned for me to follow him toward the door. He caught Andy’s eye and pointed out the door. Andy said, “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” Daniel and I walked outside for a smoke. I said,“Andy’s a character. Fun as fuck.” Daniel, stoic, “Yeah, he’s one of a kind. Don’t let his craziness fool you, though. He’s smart as a whip and he knows his beer.” I didn’t doubt it.
Daniel and I walked across the street—about eight feet—into Gollem. The experience was like walking into a medieval tavern, the only thing looking modern were the people, a mix of rusty locals, yuppies, travelers, and tourists. The place was packed. Behind the bar and on several walls were chalkboards with names of beers, alcohol content, and prices. Must have been two hundred damn beers available. Daniel mentioned that they got a lot of beers from across the street. Made sense. We were three rows of standing people from the bar, but the bartender recognized Daniel and called out his name. He asked, in Dutch, what he wanted and Daniel held up three fingers and called out “Orval.” He turned to me and said, over the noise, that Orval was a high quality Belgian beer. Excellent. The Belgians, in my opinion, made the best beers overall.
The bartender called us forward and we squeezed through the crowd to grab our beers. Daniel said something in Dutch then let me know he was running a tab. We drank in silence mostly because it was too loud to even think. Enjoyable, either way, as there was fascinating people watching and a wide mix of languages being spoken. It was international chaos in a centuries-old Dutch bar with a world-wide reputation.
Andy walked inside and found us. I was glad to see him, as much as anything because he spoke English. Daniel handed him a beer and Andy looked at Daniel with fierce gratitude. “You’re a good man, Daniel, may the Devil bless ya.” Andy continued, “Had to take care of more customers after you left. Finally able to hand the place over to Jeff for a bit. Michael—it is Michael, right?” I nodded, “Thanks for running the shop earlier. The Aussies bought over a hundred Euros worth of beer on the spot.” I raised my glass and he raised his. Daniel was looking the other way, at a woman it seemed. He excused himself and got lost in the crowd. I saw him walk up to a blonde who may or may not have been a model and she gave him a potent kiss on the lips, her arms wrapped exotically around his neck, her stomach pushing into his as she arched her back and pulled his head down with her as she leaned back, forcing him to put his arms around her to hold them both up.
Andy saw it, too, and said, “See what I mean? Wouldn't be a bit surprised if she doesn't even know 'im. Women can't help themselves around 'im, like somethin’ starts stirrin' in 'em, and they can’t resist throwin' themselves at 'im.” He took a big swig of Orval. “Ne'er mind all that, though. What brings ya ta Amterdam?” I told him a bit of my story and how I loved the spirit of the city as well as the canals, architecture, cannabis, shrooms, women—” Andy stopped me at women. “The women, you're fuckin’ right about that one, Michael. The fucking women and the fucking drugs. Amsterdam’s king on both fronts, that much is fact.” Andy finished his beer then said, "Finish your beer and we'll go have a smoke." I pounded the rest and followed Andy outside.
I was about to light up a cigarette, but Andy handed me a metallic blue rocket snorter, the best friend of the fluffhead on the go. I clicked and sniffed then clicked the other direction and tooted before handing it back to Andy. He wiped it clean with an interesting little fabric cloth then geeked up. I pulled out a smoke and lit up. Damn me if cigarettes don’t taste best after a zippity doo dah. Andy had been talking a mile a minute earlier but now there was lightning flashing out of his mouth. He was a world-class bullshitter, putting me to shame. I loved it. So rare to find a truly great bullshit artist, a person who truly loves every word uttered. I thanked Andy for the yayo, but he just shrugged his shoulders. “I’m nothin' if not a gentleman.” I blew a smoke ring up into the air and laughed. “You’re a fucking good man, Andy. A fine man.”
We walked back inside. Andy, like Daniel, knew the bartender. Of course he did. So weird how shit happens, but I was meeting all the right people to have all the best experiences. So many good things happened day after day, week after week, that I began believing this was normal, that anyone could live this life, that it was just a matter of waking up in the morning, walking outside, and meandering about until someone wonderful came along to change your life. The city seemed that magical to me and my experiences, hell, they provided evidence. During those moments, I believed it was possible for anyone because, well, why the hell not?
What mattered at that moment, though, was that Andy knew the bartender which moved our order ahead of about a dozen others. In moments, we received two Orvals. We tried to see if we could find Daniel. He was in the upstairs area, a sort of loft space half a floor above the main floor, sitting at a table with a number of women. They all looked like models. One of them was kissing Daniel, a blonde, but I didn’t think it was the same woman who had been kissing him earlier. It didn't appear that she was even at the table. That made me smile. What a lovely fucking city. When I turned to Andy he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing more to say.
Andy had me try a new beer each time we ordered and he explained why this one was good, that one was great, and the other one was going to be “forever your sweetheart.” If only I had remembered the names. With Daniel still occupied, Andy and I stepped outside for another go. He handed me the rocket launcher and I took care of business. After he jacked himself up he pulled out a joint. I laughed as he lit up and passed it to me. I took a good hit and passed it back. Drinking, smoking, and snorting. Fucking fuck. Andy may have been a great storyteller, but he wasn’t bullshitting about the drugs or the women. If it hadn’t been for the candy I would have been wasted. I was fucked up, anyway. Andy saw it. He pulled the rocket out again and handed it to me. “You need some fuel, Yank. Were you drinking earlier?” I nodded yes, “I had a few at Bloem before we raced over here.” He declared, “That's a good man. You’ll be snoggered by midnight, but I’ll keep you going into the wee hours if need be.”
Daniel walked outside just after I lit a cigarette. Andy offered him the last toke off his joint, but Daniel graciously declined. As Andy finished the roach, I asked Daniel about the women inside. He lit up and said, “Just a few friends I hadn’t seen in a while.” I said, “Friends, huh? I need more friends who kiss me like that.” He shrugged. “They were just hello kisses.” Hello kisses? Jesus, what do “stick around for more” kisses look like?
We went back inside and ordered another round. Daniel and Andy shared the tab. I tried to pay, but I couldn’t get close enough. I offered to give Daniel money for paying my bill—it was Daniel who did—but he shook his head no. I dropped it; to protest any further would have been rude. I thanked him, though. He put his arm around me. “You’ll get the next one.” Part of me doubted that. Daniel had a slight tipsiness to him, but it was almost imperceptible. Andy, meanwhile, looked stoned while also excessively energized. “Fuck me, I need to take care of a few things at the shop. Where you heading next?” Daniel said, “O’Reilly’s.” Andy said he would try to meet us there.
Daniel and I unlocked our bikes and cycled to Paliesstraat. We parked our bikes and locked them. We went inside the Irish pub and over to the bar. The dining section was packed, but the bar was relatively empty. Of course, any place would have felt empty after Gollem. Daniel ordered for us, Irish beers, then the manager or possibly owner came over to talk with Daniel, shaking his hand. Fuck, Daniel really did know everyone in the city. Ten years working in the scene might do that for a fellow, especially a person as unique as Daniel. He introduced me to the man and we shook hands. I listened as he and Daniel talked shop.
As the man walked away to take care of other customers, Daniel mentioned that a friend of his was seeing the guy. “She can do so much better. I don’t know what she sees in him. A thing for older guys, maybe, but he treats her like shit.” Daniel seemed to like him well enough in terms of the bar business, but not at all when it came to how he treated his friend. Daniel quietly told me some of the specifics and, even though I didn’t know his friend, I didn’t like what I heard. Daniel raised his eyebrows for a second and sighed before taking a drink. When the guy came back I felt like knocking his teeth out. Odd, I didn’t know the guy, but I felt protective of Daniel and his friends. I could hear my inner voice say, “Don’t fuck with my people.” Some primal or tribal area of the brain had been activated.
Other than internally feeling malicious toward the guy, I breathed easily, calmly. Daniel ordered a hamburger and fries. He said, “I’m not a hamburger man, but this place serves the best burgers in Amsterdam.” I realized I needed food so I ordered a burger and fries as well. Daniel was right; the burger was delicious. When we finished I paid our tab. Daniel smiled, patted me on the back, and said “I told you you’d get the next one.” I laughed and we were on our way.
It was close to midnight and Daniel got a call from Andy. Daniel asked if I wanted to go to another bar, this one a dive. “It’s one of Andy’s spots. Cheap beer, pool tables, and heavy metal.” I said sure. I was overdressed for it while Daniel was dressed in a way that allowed him to fit in just about anywhere in the city. I followed Daniel as we rode along. I was too heavily buzzed to know where were going and I didn’t care. I just tried to keep up with him; Daniel was just as adept riding with beers in him as he was when he was sober.
We arrived outside a place that was thumping mean and evil, possibly Slayer. There were bicycles locked up all over the place. I loved the fact that headbangers were cycling to a heavy metal bar. We went inside and sure enough half the crowd had rocker hair, leather jackets, and heavy metal t-shirts. Black Sabbath was now blazing through speakers all over the bar. Andy waved us over to a pool table and we played a few rounds. I played quite a bit in Chicago, but I told Andy and Daniel I wasn’t all that good. Naturally, I proceeded to pocket balls as if I was Minnesota Fats. They were both excellent pool players, though, so the games we played were competitive.
Daniel got stuck in the ass by a neighboring pool cue. For the very first time, I saw Daniel lose his cool. He was pissed and he got in the guy’s face, a thick guy who had a half a foot on Daniel. He looked mean, but when I saw the look on Daniel’s face, well, I wouldn’t have wanted to be the other guy. Daniel was athletic, but more importantly, a guy as cool as he was usually had reason to be. His confidence didn’t stem merely from his looks, intelligence, or experience. I was now seeing how fierce he could be. The only other person I had ever been around with such a seething rage was ... me. Daniel reminded me of myself in many ways, although I had never been the Casanova he was and even though at times I felt a stoic cool I was far more expressively emotional than he was. Otherwise, though, I saw plenty of similarities. He had an air of knowing what was happening all around him at all times and that I recognized well. He was one of the few people I had ever seen who had that quality. No way to pigeon hole anyone with that quality; no way to really know what's happening internally at any time no matter what might be showing on the surface. Made me wonder that much more about him.
Andy settled things down—apparently he knew the other guy. Daniel was still seething, more emotional than I had ever seen him. It wasn’t the first time the other table had annoyed us, but getting stuck in the ass with a pool cue was clearly the last straw for Daniel. We had been drinking for about eight hours by then, too. Beers more than anything. On the one hand, it was unsettling to see him lose his cool; on the other hand, his fury was exhilarating. Violence on the verge touched me in a certain way. I could feel my juices flowing, too. I thought about how fun it would have been to join Daniel in a fight against the guys at the other table. Daniel had the look I usually felt, the look of a man ready to fight in a frenzy, to fight to the death. A special kind of life force emerges in such a primal state. I had such an odd relationship with violence and rage, a conflicted history. Rage, true rage, surfaces from somewhere, from something, but it's too complex and almost otherworldly to be attributed merely to experiences of trauma, abuse, or neglect. The sources and meanings are far more mysterious than paperback psychology suggests.
Andy bailed out soon after the incident. Daniel and I left after another beer. Daniel looked drunk, the first time I had seen him look wasted. I was toasted, too, but I’d had help from Andy earlier. Daniel unlocked his bike and said “That was fun. See you soon, Michael.” I was about to respond, but I saw him fishing through his pockets. “Fuck! I forgot my keys at Bloem.” He looked at me and I said, “We can bike back to Bloem to get them. That’s cool with me.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I left all my keys at Bloem. Shit.” My first thought was, “Let's find those women from Gollem!” I was just joking with myself, though. I said, “Hey, you can crash at my place. I’ve got beers at my apartment.” Daniel said, “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.” I frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can stay. Come on, let’s go.” This time I led with Daniel following. If he hadn’t been drunk he probably would have been frustrated that we rode so much slower than he typically did. I shot up Spui to Leidsestraat, which was eerily dead at this late hour, then turned left on Kerkstraat.
When we arrived at my place, we locked our bikes, went inside, and I got Susan’s mail before unlocking the apartment. Daniel checked the place out. “This is a great place, Michael.” I said, “Yeah, I like it a lot. It’s a great neighborhood, too. I’ve got satellite TV and radio, too, if you want to chill out. You can crash on one of the couches tonight. I’ll get you a couple blankets. You want a beer first?” I had Hoegaarden and Columbus. Daniel chose Columbus and I went to the bedroom to grab a couple blankets. Daniel had taken a seat and turned on the TV. I took a seat and lit a cigarette; Daniel had one, too. I went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water then grabbed a bottle of Hoegaarden from the fridge.
Daniel took a look at the sketchbook on the table and we talked art while periodically turning our heads to the TV. He liked the sketches overall, but a few really caught his eye. I told him what Paulette had said about them and he laughed. “Yeah, I can see it. You were molested and now you’re a psychopath.” That made me laugh. Daniel seemed to have sobered up. I could tell he was a night owl; he didn’t seem tired at all. “I’m wiped out, Daniel. I’m going to hit the hay, but feel free to grab anything you want from the kitchen--beer, juice, food, whatever. The TV and stereo you got. Do you need anything else?” Daniel said no. “Michael, thanks for letting me stay. You’re a lifesaver.” I said, “Any time. That was a fun night.” I started walking back to the bedroom, but then I asked Daniel if he needed to get up at a certain time in the morning. “Yeah, but I have an alarm in my phone. I’ll call Isa or someone in the morning to meet me at Bloem so I can get my keys.” Cool. I said goodnight as Daniel settled under the blankets while watching TV.
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