did i ever tell you of the amourous turk on the train from paris to budapest?
i had red hair at the time... and amourous turks seem particularly
driven to amour by red hair, it seems... after subjecting me to
copious compliments, he begged me to get off the train with him... he
was getting off in berlin... and since i seemed reluctant to do so
he, eyes agleam, said, but i will pay you!... at which point, me and
the bosnian who was travelling to some refugeecamp with a stove for
his mother... good son, he... disolved in laughter. at which point,
the turk.... did i mention his startling moustaches?... insulted in
his manhood, refused me his further attentions.
me and the bosnian...
he got off the train in berlin, shooting me one last, betrayed
glance... and then the hungarian oldlady got on... first with 5 large
items of luggage that she attempted to stow overhead... then more and
more items of luggage kept arriving with a very overburdened and very
sad porter... and the oldlady more and more desperately was shoving
boxes suitcases left and right... me and the bosnian squeezed
further into the corner... boxes and suitcases precariously tilting
upabove... and the porter sweating profusely... kept dragging in
the oldlady gave an embarrassed little giggle... we giggled back...
and then the train took off. as we all burst out, once again, howling
heh... it was a great trip. on the way back, i shared my compartment
with three spanish women who sang me flamenco and invited me to stay,
in barcelona. if i was ever around there.
one day, i'll go to barcelona. i wanna see the gaudi stuff. i wanna
sing with the spanish gypsies... but this part is probably too
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