02

Tom calls me at seven asking me what am I doing. I was making dinner for Joe and my cousin Barbara, who I was living with in a nice house in a quiet Antwerp neighborhood. I said I was going to a bar where my man Tim was working round about then, to which he replied ah've got a car let's drive there. I said alright. Tom had to get up at dawn and I was not planning to go home before then so just in case I brought my book as I knew there would be bums over there looking for a chat and I was not in the mood. Off we went. As always we got happy being on the road towards another one of them grand summer of '09 nights. The massive new Marine Museum in northern Antwerp, which was still under construction, made for an impressive beacon towards our goal. Tim's bar was right on the border between the red light district and the Isle, a fancy young neighborhood surrounded by the docks. Tim and I had studied Illustration together in Antwerp. He was a tall, slender fellow with a crooked nose, and all the girls either loved him or hated him. As for me, they just liked or disliked me. I started out alone at the academy so from the first day I just hung around him and his friends because we both knew some girl Mary, who neither of us really liked. It wasn't until we went to a club, got drunk and found out we both loved the works of Gogol we decided to become brothers. And Antwerp became the playground for our mad adventures. In the years that followed the city was ours. We didn't go to bars; we just went out, dancing in the streets, climbing statues, cranes, cathedrals, not going home before the sun threw us out. And we drank, howled to the moon, to the city and its inhabitants. A crazy bunch they were, and we knew all of them, friend and foe, sharing our whiskey only to throw the empty bottle at their heads. Those days were gone now. Tim and I changed and so did our beloved town. We went on with our lives unable to shake the feeling we had lost something. Perhaps we realized we had passed the years in which brilliant young minds usually develop themselves into whatever brilliant old farts they are meant to be, thus realizing we weren't that brilliant all together. Anyhow, Tim was working bars nowadays and I pretty much just sat there with him, two 25 year olds reminiscing instead of looking forward. We had great fun though, and we were surrounded by a fantastic family of friends. Upon arrival that night I saw Bill, a guy I met there once or twice before, sitting at the bar with his buddy Emile. Bill worked in the shipping business travelling round the world to check his cargos, and had always told me the craziest stories about those travels. Tonight he was drunk. Before we had a chance to even say hi to Tim, he grasped me and started telling me how my paintings made him wanna put a bullet in his head, and how I, like all artists, probably felt superior to other people. I told him I resented that remark and turned my back to him. He wouldn't let go though and called me an arrogant Neanderthal. Now I know I have got a few of the Neanderthal facial features but Bill shouldn'a said that. Just because I knew he was a fighter and twice my size I let it go. I returned to my own company and tried my best to ignore Bill. Lucky for me he tried to make some girl, failed miserably and silently disappeared shortly afterwards. "Back in the days," I said, "back in the days, I would've punched him right on the nose!" We all knew that wasn't true.