Judging by one of the posters on the wall, I would guess Diamant is a Bulgarian bar as well; the bar manageress is a black-haired lady; and two of the whores sitting at the table outside look like black-haired Bulgarians as well. I think black hair is a very striking characteristic of Bulgarian women: Emily and her “mother” in Fifth Avenue have got black hair, as does my friend Beatrice in the street. Whores of Brussels are so comfortably aligned with the other people of Brussels, men, women, children, with no problem whatsoever; you wonder why other cities are so scared of them. Is the barmaid’s name really Alice? One of the whores just called her that I’m sure. Brussels is so at ease with their prostitutes (to an outsider’s innocent eye), it is such a nice relaxing environment. Christ, sex is the most natural pleasurable thing in life; it SHOULD be relaxed!
The driver tells us he has been informed there are pickpockets on this train. Well, we ARE in Brussels; I expect to find pickpockets under my bed or in the shower. ICE to Frankfurt, from whence I head on to Munich. Apparently I spent 65 euros on my first day in Brussels. Cine Paris once again two mediocre films. I complained about the exclusive diet of Marc Dorcel, now they seem to just show awful US porn which is the worst in the world as far as I’m concerned. And the old pervert was back, shuffling to stand next to me at the back, and just staring down at my crotch the whole time hoping for any glimpse of hard English cock. I left about 2 minutes after walked in, intending to go back later but suspecting I would be too drunk, as it proved. Got to 5th Avenue about 4pm and it was poor as usual. I was just about to leave when four big Dominican Republic girls came in together, the curvy black Lucy the pick of them. I got turned on just looking at her but she said she did not speak English and I did not press it. Not sure how many beers I had but eventually I left and had a McDonald’s before bed. My TV was not working again, a regular occurrence in the Max. On the way along Rue des Commerçants I am sure I saw the black jacket, blue jeans, black ponytail Moroccan I remember from last time. “Cheri, ça va?” she said. I hope I see her on the way back. Some grizzly kid ruining the peace of this ICE.