They said they liked this one the most. It would fit me the best.
Of all the shirts they had seen at the GABF, the Great American Beer Festival.
I thought it was alright. I was too happy people brought a T back home especially for me.
Although I’m not a Goth.
And that quilt, that’s what we call a grand foulard.
Each night I’m sleeping underneath it.
Unless it’s dirty. Than it’s hanging here, where it’s hanging now, waiting for the moment it’s dry enough to be used again.
The sign says that people got to take care of their bathhouse tickets.
The brewery I work in used to be a public bathhouse.
Funny they made a special sign for it.
I sometimes think we should make a sign to ask people to bring their glasses back inside.
But that always reminds me of a Dutch owned campsite in Belgium.
They had signs for everything.
Don’t put certain dirt in the bins at toilets.
No fire after a certain time.
At 8 the dustbin would be emptied. No dustbags were therefore accepted between 8 & ½ 9.
Payment should be done before 12. Otherwise one should be registered for another day.
Everywhere. Handwritten signs. Laws. You shouldn’t break.
It was not so long after the ending of the war in Serbia the couple entered the beershop.
I think I told them the only beerthings I collected was beershirts.
This is a beershirt, the man said, pointing at his shirt.
So we swopped.
But nowhere on the T it says it is beer. Or that it is about beer.
I do believe the man. I know it’s beer.
But I don’t dare to wear it.
So I’ll just do it today.
I don’t accept remarks about it though.
I love floors. Taking photographs of it.
I didn’t know floors were that nice to look at, untill I started searching for locations to photograph my shirts.
It can be so filthy.
Strange objects on it.
It suits so nicely with certain T’s.
I’m afraid you’re about to see lots of floors. With T’s laying on it off course.
This is where I sit. Mondays, Tuesdays and/or Wednesdays.
During the afternoon. Just for 1 hour. Maybe a little bit more.
During 2 beers, one could say.
Reading, that’s all I do. Besides drinking those beers.
Maybe a little chat with the bartenders.
Trying not to get distracted by other customers.
I want to read. As much as possible.
And here I can concentrate.
Better than staying at home, where internet is on 24/7.
I woke up after a long day of hard working.
I remembered Sas was celebrating her birthday.
I’d better take a shower, I thought.
I’d better shave some hear underneath my beard.
I’d better change shirts.
I’d better turn on a T that’s looking like summer.
Italian, I thought.
I’d better take something with me.
Italian beer, I thought.
That’ll suit my T.
Produtta e imbottigliata presso il Birrificio Bruton.
At least it looks good with my shirt.
Is there an English word for? Never heard of it.
So I’m quite sure I’m gonna use the wrong words here.
It’s a sort of a bin where you can save newspapers & magazines in. Found it at the attic of an old man whose appartment I could occupy temporarily after that he passed away. It was in a building that should be demolished within half a year.
The attic was totally filled up with old stuff. Also lots of pigeon food.
& Because of that lots of flees.
Flees love pigeons, I had to conclude after visiting the attic.
When I got downstairs with this ‘newspaperbin’ my legs were itching & looking as red as the T here.
Got this one from Tony. Nice lad who visited Amsterdam 1 month ago.
A strange thing is that I’m always in a hurry when I have to leave home.
It’s not that I start too late. There is too much to do.
The same, ever occurring problem, everytime.
So now you know why you won’t get to know anything about this T.
Or it’s surroundings for that short moment when it was about to get photographed.
I just had to take a shower before leaving for work.