Thorbecke Scholengemeenschap

Foruby

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Bruh

Total crap

I think about Aunt Tineke lately. I don't know if she was my aunt, but there is no one else to ask. At a family celebration she had once offered to come by and after two postcards it was arranged. She lived in Uzes, a medieval village in Provence. Bart and I arrived with her interrail passes. We were men of the world, with backpacks and homemade shorts. Her house was narrow and high and stood on the city wall. It was very hot, but the old rooms were cool. She was small, tan, and had a granite jaw that contrasted with her thin gray page hairstyle. From her I learned that there were also green Gauloises that I had to buy at a Tabac. We put some money in the pot and she cooked things we didn't know, ratatouille, stuffed zucchini flowers. She poured wine from a jerry can, so we drank heavily. Just like Aunt Tineke, who turned around at the end of the evening and pulled out the pot of money so that coins rolled everywhere. Her legs stretched out like children in a sandbox, she said: "What are you wearing really nice pants."