They don't have railings on their canals
I took a year off between school and university, mainly to travel around
and work as a freelance photographer.
I moved in with some family in southern Holland, and immediately fell
in love with every aspect of the country. However, I couldn't leave the
Netherlands without visiting Amsterdam, so I told my family I was visiting
Paris, and got on the train. The rest of Holland despises A'dam, and discourages
everyone from visiting.
I spent a week at the Flying Pig hostel, one of the greatest places on
the face of this planet. One evening, a teenaged bluegrass singer from
St. Louis and I tries Philosophers' Stones, and we damn near killed ourselves!
I have synesthesia, a brain condition where I associate properties with
senses. Colours make me think of sounds; smells make me think of numbers,
etc. Well, these shrooms gave me the impression that I was being slowly
surrounded by the letters that corrospond with all sorts of senses. A
whiff of fresh pastry, and I'd be confronted with a giant red letter 'H'
looming high above the canals and awkwardly leaning houses. A sound of
a car horn, and a purple nine would tumble down the cobblestones.
They don't have railings on their canals... that's fucking dangerous.
It was a day later before I felt okay again. A day later before I stopped
hanging onto the walls.