I'm a Good Guy.
I never hurt anyone, physically. I'm almost sorry.
A picture speaks a thousand words. A hit in the head at the right moment speaks ten thousand words. I said this to my cognitive-behavioral therapist last year, when I was describing a situation in which my friend Zayin insulted my (by now ex-)friend, Tusti Mis in front of four other mutual friends (without TM being present. He's not part of that crowd.)
"But that's primitive!", the therapist, a Dutch woman said.
"And what do you think sex is?", I replied. I stopped my therapy soon afterwards, I had enough.
My friend Nozina (where are you? I haven't seen you or heard from you this year!) promised to take me to street fights, "cock fights" in the Hague, this May. I need to learn the Art of Knowing the Right Moment whether I feel it or not. That's how one survives in a city like Rotterdam.
In the Hague, though, it's done by a stab in a back, I've learned. I hang out with wrong crowds, but Nozina knows better, he was earning for his living by street fight competitions when he first came to the Netherlands.
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