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Me and the legend, Henk. Forgive these stupid watermarks in all of these photos I can't get rid of 'em. Amsterdam is that city where for the first time in my life I felt like I could have died from partying.
This was years ago: I remember looking out the window of my room at like five in the morning, the street lights shimmering on the black water of the canals, while my friends snored around me in drunken, coked out stupors as my heart raced, my jaw a vice, with teeth that could have cracked walnuts, shit, they could have cracked themselves. I was younger then and still learning to grab control of my life and I was thankful, maybe for the first time to see the sun come up, because I realized, the difference between life and death is only one moment or decision away.
It was a moment in hell and memorable for that reason. Needless to say Amsterdam is fucking insanity personified. I adapt. It was an honor to be there, in the midst all of that history and to meet Henk for the first time and see him in action. A man who lives for himself and answers to no one, a truly inspirational dude.
I worked there for about a week and a half with late nights fueled by the temptations of my surroundings. I was in a bar with friends when someone got shot three times. I sat there after the first two shots, thinking they were fireworks, as everyone ran out of the bar, like a bunch of gazelles. I was there for the third shot and saw the dude on the ground.