So I return to the Dome bar. Without having to say a word, the blonde North African (having not seen me for 3 months) says to me ‘Stella?’. Yes. And instantly readies my nuts for me. My PEAnuts, oh you disgusting perverts. It is an incredible fact but I do not know one single barmaid in London as beautiful as her—and I go in a lot of pubs (searching for some girl like this). I have not seen any beauties in the street yet, but—it is winter. Everyone is swaddled in their coats & their scarves. There are other compensations; it gets dark by 4 or 5 o’clock, and this counts for a lot. Just as I was stepping into the bar—the bus turning the corner? 368; to Leuven. Ah dead on 1700 the black (darker-skinned) girl arrives in her coat to start her shift. A grin & a ‘bonjour’ to me as she comes through the door. These two barmaids, ladies & gentlemen of the jury, are the best thing in Brussels. If there were two barmaids like this in London, I would never leave London.
The Stripper 