HOW MY LOVE DIED IN LINCOLN
It all started with the one shot of cherry taste vodka I sipped in The Shed. That's where the party started for many and ended for me. It was then I got firmly convinced that was not going to be my thing. Not like this. Not where the Balkan girls get drunk before diner and spill beer on your purse while they randomly hit on your friends -- very embarrassing and not charming.
So I decided to end my seemingly endless longing. Ever since I arrived, the great cathedral of Lincoln gloriously smiles at me from where it firmly stands. But I didn't seem to find the time these days to get closer to it.
After this one shot of vodka with cherry taste (does this sound sad?), I decided to go. I spread the word to my friends. I see my parents' face pasted on theirs. "Are you sure?" -- "I have my phone," I said. "But when you want to use it, you're probably to0 late..." -- "I'll just be fine," I said while leaving.
And so my quest started. Helena has left the building, but nobody seemed to notice. Right outside the building I see the cathedral and along side the river, I try to get closer and closer. Between all these people I feel actually quite safe. But a sad thought came in to my mind. Why make such a fuss about our Dutch legal prostitutes, while they are here out on the street as well? It's cold! Cover yourself, poor girls!
Well, there is one nice thing about it, they make me feel safe as I enter the more quiet streets. A pervert, or worse, will lose interest in me and my winter coat, long trousers and all stars, with all these chilly girls around me.
Gosh, this is how the cathedral get to be so high, the streets are getting steeper and steeper and with every step quieter.
It's been a long way and I lost sight of the cathedral. I pass the cosier pubs. I feel lonely. Like a lonely pilgrimage who's taking a journey to Jerusalem from dark Africa. Will I ever reach it? Or will I drop down and tumble all the way back like a football.
But it all fell of me, and I mean all, when I looked to the right. I heard angel voices when I caught eye of the cathedral. It just doomed up round the corner. I reached heaven. Yes, this must seeing heaven feel like.
I take a walk around it. That doesn't progress my feeling of safety. This is the moment I promised my friend Sytze to go back. But I don't. I see some deserted graves. I stop to read. Poor boy, died at seventeen. I want to read the others as well, until one catches my eye. It's broken in two pieces. It's seems like a spooky entrance to the chambers, but I don't feel like going there. Its positively dark there, probably. I leave, taking some pictures with my phone. Promising to be back on Sunday for the evening song.
As heaven is the highest point, it can only go down from here.
Soon enough I'm back in the crowd. But ones again the crowd depresses me. They're not only barely clothed, they are also terribly drunk. And there it happened. My love for England died a lonely death. They strike down in the city at night and coldblooded kill it. An unending stream of people, nonstop delivered out of various alleys, constantly filling these beautiful old streets with unashamed drunkenness.
After that thought I enter the hotel. That's when I bought myself some chocolate from the nice Scottish man and and wrote this.