It was the year 1989.
We disembarked from our charter plane and couldn't believe how cold it was.
The customs in the Luxembourg airport gave us 45 minutes to get out of their hair and out of their country. They couldn't believe we had no visa, money, or ticket out.
Fine. So far, so good. We figured 45 minutes is better than no minutes; hence, we couldn't be happier.
Strange looks and stares came upon us everywhere we turned. It must have been below freezing, and we were in t-shirts, jeans, and sandals, the same garments we wore back in Barbados.
This was unheard of. And the laugh of the town, or more curiosity than anything else.
We quickly unpacked and started putting on more and more t-shirts over t-shirts and jeans over jeans to the point that we must have looked ridiculous—anything to stave off the cold.
We needed to think. Think, damn you!
We must find a way out of there, or deportation is next.
But we couldn't panic. "Is it too cold to hitchhike?" someone asked.
Time passed, and we were nowhere near getting a ride out of there. The cops were watching closely. They wanted to make sure we were leaving.
With Amsterdam on our minds, we wanted that more than they ever did.
We must've been the only fools coming to Europe broke, hungry, and wearing sandals.
Three old amigos in the adventure of their lifetimes. Hitchhiking throughout Brazil, making a living with handmade jewelry but set on making it overseas.
By whatever means necessary.
Yes, we did that.
~∆~
About the Creator
Rene Volpi
I'm from Italy and write every day. Being a storyteller by nature, I've entertained (and annoyed) people with my "expositions" since I was a child, showing everyone my primitive drawings, doodles, and poems. Still do! Leave me a comment :)
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
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