I got five bucks in my back pocket, a gold-coin hundred in my wallet and a quartz wristwatch worth ten. I got a belly full of goulash, a heart thirty years a’tickin’, and skull-load of ideas good to go. Yeah, these I got!
Plus, my friend, I got this body: I got these legs I can cross in tight seats, kick out in a squabble or scramble like mad when my life is under threat. I got two arms, two hands, two feet – feel that –I got those. And these little gems, my friend, I got them too, eyes to gaze at lush damsels in the spring and leer when I’m feeling dark & ghetto.
Yeah, these are mine: my dimpled cheeks, my busted molar, even this rogue lock of hair I’ve battled in earnest for years. Mine! I own this body. I don’t rent, it’s not on loan, it’s mine to do with as I may, to thrust at this world – helter-skelter – to thrust at this world with the fervor of a kamikaze, to throw into the air, to hurtle into space or drop into the fray.
I light a cigarette…
So now, my friend, I must tell you this:
This is my last cup of coffee in this great city. This rampart of the common. And I will miss it. I damn well will!
I will miss bigman under the brickwork; I'll miss the brigand gang of Kurds with their brass spittoons and mustaches. And I will miss the warm summer nights when the sky comes down in pellets of water and starlight. I’ll miss that. I'll miss you, Rotterdam City.
But I take what I’ve got now.
I take it all bundled up like this, like I said...
and I go.
