Mentalechoes

It was last friday night that I found myself in the Red Light District to play an evening of poker with a circle of loose mates in a flat right in the center. It’s almost strange to wander through the crowded main strip because you’re not there to lap up women with your eyes, but just taking the most direct route through that part of town. Try as you might you can never move quickly because the hoardes of tourists are only moving at a slow crawl, giving their lust and curiousity ample time to be satisfied.

Now as it turned out, I’d gone out of the money on the first game, and bought into some gear being delivered before the beginning of the second, which made me a bit short to meet the minimum buy-in at the table, so I had to go and get some more cash from the bank machines at Dam Square. That was the easy part, and on it’s own would never have even turned into anything remotely interesting. No it was the phone call I took while on the way to the cash machines where things took a strange turn. My friend who was hosting the poker night rang me and asked if I could pick up 20 chicken wings from the chicken shop near the old church. No problem I told him. You could count the number of snackbars on one hand in that part of town so it would standout as much as the Christian Youth Hostel, and so couldn’t be hard to find.

The thing was, the chicken shop was actually really fucking hard to find and it took me three circuits of discount corner where all the cheap nasty hookers assembled to find it. Honestly I started getting worried because two of the girls I kept passing started coming out of their windows to intercept me and drag me into their love dens. Luckily for me two years of playing competition touch football back in Bris-vegas had made me nible as cat on my feet so I managed to dodge their groping fingers without having to resort to any kung fu moves

When I did find the shop I went in and made my order for 20 chicken wings and the nice man with the bored shitless look on his face politely asked me if I would eat them there or take them away. Fuck me, was he kidding? Did I honestly look like the kind of person that could even eat 20 chicken wings in one sitting?! I could have pondered that some more, but I didn’t bother, instead I told him takeaway and texted my friend the wings were in the fryer.

Once the food was in hand, I began the walk back to the flat, and on the way had to pass discount corner one last time. This one very large breasted black hooker saw the bag in my hand and began gesturing for me to come over. I waved her away and continued walking. I’m not sure what caused me to turn around, some latent spider sense I wasn’t aware I had, or the ravenous growls coming out of her throat, but the next thing I knew this woman was chasing me down. Christ it’s scarey how frighteningly fast 120 kilos of hungry hooker can move when they want to. She almost had me but I managed to cut through some stoned as fuck tourists and make it past her safety zone at point she turned and went back to her love den. It was a close one though and I made a mental note to watch that for the next time.

After I made it back to the flat and I was happily chowing down on some wings, I had a laugh to myself thinking that it’s not the drugs or alcohol that gets you attention in that place, but rather the piping hot spicey chicken wings. Funny how they never mention that in any of the guide books.

Padwanna!