Dear friends. This is my first post in a long time. Hopefully the first of many.
I put my foot in a dog turd yesterday. Stepping in shit, although not that uncommon for me, is as always a very aggravating and quite sad experience. There is always the same reaction. You scream, loudly or quietly inside yourself and then you start dragging your foot along the ground smearing whatever’s stuck to your sole in effort to get rid of it. In the words of Captain Kurtz: “The Horror, the horror…”
The streets of Brussels are literarily covered in turds. There are so many of them here that I’m seriously starting to doubt that there are enough dogs around to produce the amount of excrement lying around. Now this thought brought me back to the year 1992 and an incident that, to this day, remains carved in my brain. I, my brother and my dad found ourselves playing a friendly game of basket ball in the south of France or Nice to be more precise. I had just gotten a new pair of Nike Air cross trainers and was digging the fact of being alive. I guess it looked like we all were having fun because a friendly French kid my age, I was 12, came up and wanted to join. We of course let him in the game.
Now this is where it happens. We had been playing for a while and the French kid is starting to look a little squeamish. He all of a sudden stops the game, says something in French and gestures to the low cut shrubs next to the court. I figure he has to take a pee and think nothing of it until he pulls down his pants, squats down and lays a Nr. 2 right there in the bushes in front of us, god and everyone else. Me and my brothers jaws are on the ground as he skips happy towards us to continue the game.
Back to the turds on the streets of Brussels. Is it possible that people just letting themselves go?
