It's a tradition by now in our family. Every time one of us leaves for a longer period of time, they have to cook. So it would seem it came to be my day. I call it the last supper just to take the piss out of religion. No connection whatsoever. Well maybe the background and the long hair. Sea food day. Worcestershire sauce. Pickled bamboo. Cocktail sauce. And family. It's the kind of thing that really makes you feel like you belong, just before you leave. A goodbye party in a manner, but only us. No tragedy, nobody's pushing daisies yet so fuck off. We watch a movie together and feel like home.
Tomorrow we'll be moving to a great new house with a big backyard and funny shaped bath tub. The view is better, the people are more civilized but hey it ain't exactly home. Some of the people here can't really be replaced, no matter the money, the cars or the girls. There's a yucky mushy way they get under your skin and can't get rid of them. Like that little puppy in the rain that you reaaly want to kick in the head, but end up with it home, explaining to the girlfriend why you have a fleabag roaming, pissing and shitting all over the place. And how the hell d'you get past security with a dog in student accommodation?
I suppose i'll be missing Lucky 13, Jo (am recalculat si nu esti singura. pff), Rammy, Huck, cab drivers, our lorries, trams and tube, people sleeping on the corner in funny positions, late nights with beer, Motoare, Cori, Ecs, Shtevia, Baricade, Off roading, the Land Rover, walking in the middle of the night on the river bank. that's about it. And Romanian cheese. Yeah, cheese. You fuck ups haven't got good cheese.
As the next post will be from another island, some good lyrics:
"So now it's over let the spot light fade
I hear the music slowly fade away
And now I find it hard to say good-bye
So I'll just say good night my friends"
Goodbye everybody,and to you my friends... goodnight
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