And we took off over giant windmills. Like scores of three-armed giants waving goodbye.
Follow the windmill.
I did last night, and had a Dutch treat of an evening. I danced and laughed until it hurt to great 90s music with two Dutch girls I met at the bar. I invited them over to my corner in the back of the bar, and they joined me.
Push it real good.
-Salt & Pepa
Such beautiful girls. And so funny. One named owned a butterfly reserve in Laos. Her name was Eden and it could not have been more apt. Se was gorgeous in that sharp angular Dutch way. With striking strong blue eyes and angles of an art deco dream.
Her friend Rihana was a tall blond beauty. Lord, they sure do make shiksas pretty. Just so you are aware of such things-- although I am sure you are.
They were so sweet and funny. I invited them over and they joined me in my corner in the back of the bar. Dutch Dulcineas joined me for an evening of dancing over Dutch karaoke. As weird as that sounds, it was.
Dui. Dutch for goodbye.
I wander through the canals of the sunlit city with a Cheshire grin on my grill. And she winks back at me.
Follow the windmills. Holland is a land of windmills. Amsterdam is a giant windmill. Something that keeps this quijote coming back.