A somber mood.
In a dangerous ally smoking the holy ganja. If I ever become a saint I most likly will be a saint of drunks and damaged people.
We walk into a different world than the one we left. The philosophical river of never-twice-entering becomes real. Lodz is a city lost in dark memories, stuck in the river and suffering in its bondage.
Its funny. Stasjek, the local guy, is scared walking through the poor back-alleys. Me and my wife;we so hard mådderfåkkers; we doñ' give a shit. We've been worse places together than this, and we never got a scratch outside Norway.
Warzaw airport the next morning at like 5 in the fucking AM. (The cheapest flights are alwaysat some inconvenient time). Guess how fucking drunk and stoned I am at this point. Yes, I hate flying.
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