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On the Road Overseas

I always used to say that there is always blood on rue de calle, the street that we lived on. Right next to our apartment there was a first floor apartment with a black cast iron black bat on the door. In the apartment lived a very scary looking dude. Outside his front door there was always blood. The dude was very weird looking. He dressed in european clothes. He always had dark sunglasses on and often sat at the cafe oppisite the cafe we sat at in the main square ol the arab quarters. That cafe is where the secret police sat too. They all looked alike with dark sunglasses and we often stared at each other across the square while sipping our mint tea.
We spent a lot of our time there at the cafe in the square. Watching the people in the square was better than watching a movie. There were deformed beggars with backward feet. Hustlers, pimps, drug dealers, wild poor children trying to hustle tourist for their daily bread. Some of it was disgusting, some of it was funny bot it was always interesting to watch as we grooved on a hash hish high.
There were alot of really cheap restraunts there in the old quarter. You could get a good meal for thirty five cents. The salads were usually raunchy but the rest of the meal wasn't bad. One day while searching for resuraunts we came upon a very unusual looking establishment. There was a sign out in front of it with a picture of mickey mouse on the sign. The sign read,"English fish and chips". The place also specialized in breakfasts of slab bacon and eggs. Ther place was owned by an englishman and we used to frequent the place often.
We had an interesting dope dealer. He was an arab hippie by the name of, you guessed it, mohammed. He dressedin some really wild looking clothes like pink shirts and multi stripped trousers with a flower planted in his panama hay. He had the best hash in town because it was laced with opium. a few years later Therte was a feature story on him by rolling stone magazine with pictures and all. In the article he claimed that he sold dope to the rolling stones and knew mick jagger well. I imagine that article put an end to his business.
Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, days into months, in a constant hash high. Everything gets old after a while so Ron and I decided to leave Tangiers. Our apartment lease was up and we were nearly broke. Ron was going to return to the states but I was going to remain overseas.
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