A tipsy wobble as he hums a song about home. I can almost hear it. An illusion spell cast by my own imagination.

But here, in this bar, that young romantic wakes up. Nothing remains and yet nothing really goes away.

“We need to talk about how we talk about things we really need to talk about” is too long and too silly to be the title of this piece

That even though we are beaten senseless with sticks, the carrots, even if they are few and far between, are worth it.

I suppose friends have become followers over the years.

Sometimes my love is that joyous understanding of unity.

On most of our planet; humanity has nothing to do, nothing to see and nothing to will.

Still when you drink this well aged nut-oaky liquid, the past becomes part of the present and turns itself into my, no doubt, wobbly future. A theory on the temporality of whiskey! If you have been waiting for it; there you go!     

They are talking about the good Lord himself: Johan Cruyff. If this atheist city has one deity, it is the messiah of Mokum.

Like the people on the terrace here, we assume the night ends before the world does.

The right answer, Solomon says, is as a sweet little kiss.

My apologies dear reader, I shouldn’t compare you to a soup.

A small victory of light over darkness, good over evil and knowledge over ignorance. It was a bar at its best.  

A young man’s focus on geography is limited, a young man’s gaze travels the world.

Coca Cola is happiness, is belonging, is meaning.

The three pieces of the road-crossing-puzzle are: confident feet, one hand, and a certain comfort with the concept of one’s own mortality.

Reflection on chess, a bar and the competitiveness of our society.