The day after. . .

When last we spoke, dear reader, I had resolved to find me a nice little coffeeshop in which to finish The System of the World in a quiet, ganja-infused haze. And so I did. The Grashopper coffeehouse was just what I was looking for: quiet, intimate, and –due to its peculiar shape– riddled just as many dark corners as the streets of Amsterdam itself. I sat, I rolled up, I toked, I read, and had a little (non–THC–infused) tea every so often. Three or four hours later, when I surfaced back into 21st century Amsterdam from 18th century London, Half–Cocked Jack Shaftoe (L'Enmmerdeur, the Vagabond King) happily taking pot shots with Leroy, or Louis XIV; and Daniel Waterhouse safely on his way back to Boston, I had absolutely no intention of going back to my room. A very long night ensued, full of drinking, smoking, and general debauchery, in the company of some Ecuatorian tourists. Hence my late start yesterday, my plans to visit the Rijksmuseum dashed, and my general hung–over wanderings through the late afternoon. 'Nuff said.