Day 6, Brussels: Frites, the Perfect Condiment, or Dude, Where's My Train?

Not feeling tip-top. They put frites on everything here in Brussels, which does wonders to alleviate homesickness, but doesn't do much for one's actual physical health. In an effort to boost the nutritional value of my last meal here, I decided to supplement my delicious bratwurst-frite-mayonnaise sandwich with a can of orange juice. A body needs nutrients.

Health food.

Fortunately for my immune system, my next stop is Amsterdam, a city that I know nothing about, other than that I've heard that it has excellent drug stores. Hopefully I'll find something to ward off these sniffles.

Nonsequitur: I've noticed that being around non-native English speakers causes me to speak in broken English, appending an invisible question mark to the end of each sentence, as though I'm not sure that I'm using the correct word for "train" or "cheese" or "prostitute."

Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go find my, how do you say, prostitute? No? Train? Ah, yes.

Salukes for now.

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