De Schuilplaats: a kitchen, dentist, hairdresser, meeting place...etc.

I stood off to the side, watching, afraid to sit at a table right away...they might not appreciate my awkward attempts at friendliness. They sat, spread throughout the large, colorful room, at the tables we had set up a few minutes before the doors opened and they rushed in from the cold where they had been waiting for half an hour to get in.
Rob, who had introduced himself at the door, being first in line and first to tell me I was a beautiful blond and he was happy to see me, stood next to me. One arm was pulled up into his sleeve where he hid a large bottle of some strong smelling drink in his hand. He told me he didnt need anything, he had this. But other people, they needed help. And he knew everyone, he said. He pointed to and talked, sometimes grabbing someone as they walked by to shake hands and tell me how he knew them.

See that guy, the big black one? Yeah, I know him. Hey, HEY! Yeah, man! Good to see you! (Slap on the back, met with a big grin on the big black guys face).

A woman with a stroller full of cloth and wrapped up bundles came in, her hair wrapped in a turban of sorts; she looked Russian or Eastern European anyway. She was followed by a quiet guy with long stringy blonde hair who stared at the floor and blushed shyly if you happened to catch his eye. Behind him walked a man with dark hair, combed and parted in the middle, wearing a blue pinstripe suit with a bright red bowtie and brown shoes that looked slightly too big for him. I couldnt help but smile as his clownish neatness in this crowd.

Oh, and see that one, (pointing at a wrinkled, skinny man in jeans and a large sweatshirt), yup, I know him. And that one. And that one. OH! AND HER!, HEY YOU SKINNY WHORE! (A short, not so skinny woman with frizzy redish hair turned, then smiled and rushed over to give him a big kiss and a Hello, hunny! Oh, I love this man...).
Yeah, this is the woman I live with.

What a strange crowd it was. Some dressed in rags, dirty and hagard looking, others in some attempt to decent appearance, looking equally as worn and tired with life. Some talking just a bit too loudly and laughing and slapping shoulders and shaking hands with everyone as bits of spit escaped from their over excited smiles as they talked. Others huddling in corners, sitting by themselves, or watching quietly the crowd around them. I felt the stares of many, some friendly, some admittedly creepy, most curious.

So, do you study? Ah...psychology. So, what, do you come here to study us? Right, you want to help out...but we are pretty crazy, eh? You want to examine us. Yeah, I know how it is.

The rest of the night consisted of dishing out food, smiling at people, not really knowing what to say, though met with general friendliness and some chitchat, and meeting Perry (whose real name is some French name that starts with Perry and continues for another ten letters or so...and who speaks four languages, apparently used to work in a hospital, has travelled to Florida Keys and the Spanish Canaries, and who has a son he never sees cause his wife wont let him) and Ron (who used to live in Rotterdam, was once a chaufer of sorts, and whose wife died three years ago, at which point he couldnt work anymore, eventually lost his license, and now is alone and travels 45min on Fridays to have supper with the others at the Schuilplaats).

When we left, Rob ran up to us to ask us to spend the night ith him and his buddies, so we could see what it is like to live in the streets. We declined, giving excuses of family waiting, exams to study for, etc.

Ah. You think we are criminals. Its too bad, we are nice. Nothing would happen. We just want you to see what it is like to live here. Yes, yes, you think that. Dont try to convince me. You said it. Maybe not exactly those words. But you said it. I know how it is.