Abandoned roads - Jos Lammers

there non-stop from eight in the morning till midnight.
For fifty cents you could stay there till you knew every
joke by heart.
And because Maharaj ji had a motor home as huge
as a public bus in order to see America, with a kitchen,
bathroom, sleeping room and all, Tom figured we could
take the Ford Capri of Finance to Aspen, a ski resort about
three hundred miles up in the Rocky Mountains that until
then I had only seen in the far distance walking to
the office. He taught me how to stay upright on ski’s, we
visited the local hippie theatre (‘bring out your favorite
smoke wear’) and crashed at a former girl friend’s from
before he joined Maharaj ji. More mistakes together were
hardly possible.
And because Maharaj ji when he was sixteen married
a follower called Marolyn, who worked in his ‘divine
residence’ in Malibu, and even had a child with her,
I already figured in Amsterdam that I could once and
a while hold hands with Stefanie, with whom I could
always talk about all things so well. In Denver I missed
her. The American followers were definitely warm-hearted
and kind, but in Denver I kept walking around as a
bit-player lost on the wrong film set. And without any
idea where to find the exit.
68