He hadn't been in Amsterdam long.
He packed his clothes neatly into the drawers,
Folded his bag and decided to save some souls.

He walked the length of the Singel
Smiling, Stopping to say "Hello"
He asked directions to that neon city of sin,
blessed by the name of the son, the father, the holy ghost.
Then, amongst the cocaine dealers he chose to ignore
After the first flashed him a knife and swore
To cut off his balls if he didn't move on,
He found his first fallen angel of the night.

He stared for a while at her fat thighs
Then smiling, blessed her with all his might.
She gazed in disgust, gave him the finger
And called him a fag.
He smiled, walked to the next window and stared for a while.
Her face was old, she looked cold and abused.
He blessed her, she smiled weakly and shook her head.

The next window was empty.
The red neon emphasised the emptiness.
He shook his head sadly and walked to the next
Where a young Vietnamese girl smiled and beckoned him in.
He stood still and shook his head with a gentle smile then walked to the
next window
Where a young brunnette sat smiling, tempting the loneliness of night to
fade away.
He stood for a while and returned her smile.
Her beauty radiated, littered the night with sensitivity.
He thought of Munch's Virgin and its sensual purity and stared at the
inspiration,
Then gazed for a while into the red enhanced hazel of her eyes.

Her smiling eyes lured him, pulled him in from the night.
The thoughts of salvation gently evaporated into the cold breaths of exhaled
air
Which themselves were lost to the night with only the half moon and stars to
bear witness.

 
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