My American friend H. is in town again, and whenever I ask if there's anything he needs, he says: 'Take me to the nearest coffeeshop. What I need is the strongest weed they have.' So after I had forced him to drink some of my coffee, and eat a sandwich I made, we went out looking for weed. By foot. Not because it's so fast, but simply because walking is the most human, most pleasant mode of transportation, especially when you are planning to get high (I was planning to join him, if only to write about the experience; I'll do anything in that respect). We walked down De Pijp. The sky looked grey, and it drizzled. 'Where are the coffeeshops?' H. asked. I said I didn't know. The few coffeeshops that we passed were closed. When we got to Thorbecke Plein things started looking better. 'Club Nasty,' H. said. 'I like that.' I liked it too, but they didn't sell weed, and besides, they were closed. On Rembrandt Plein there was Club Smokey, which said it all, but it looked like your typical tourist trap, so I decided enough is enough, let's go to De Tweede Kamer. De Tweede Kamer is the only coffeeshop I would go to myself if I needed weed, and I like the name even better than Club Nasty. Imagine a coffeeshop in the US, I told H., called The House of Representatives. 'LA has more places that sell weed than Amsterdam,' H. said, 'but you have to be a Californian citizen.' He went in and bought two bags. (To be continued.)
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