Amsterdam was amazing. I remember eating pot brownies with her and hiring a girl in the red-light district to strip for us. We felt so bad for her that we offered to pay for a semester at a university if she would stop being a whore. So much for the red-light district being fun, right? After the stripping hooker, we had to get out of the city. We went to an amazing tulip festival, saw some windmills, and spent way too much on "authentic" Dutch wooden clogs. Those are the most uncomfortable things I've ever ruined my feet with.

After spending the night in a smaller countryside village, we caught a train to Bruges, Belgium. What an incredible place - I felt like I had time-traveled back to the 12th century, only without the famine and cholera.

Molly was tired, so we stayed at the hotel for an extra day. She slept for 18 hours but was feeling better when she woke. Next stop, Paris.

To be honest, I was starting to fear that we had made a mistake. I could tell Molly wasn't feeling as well as she said she was. We were pushing too hard. I was going to break the itinerary in half at least, if not cancel outright and take us home. I knew she'd be so angry with me, though. Maybe we could see a doctor in Paris.

"Bruges is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The swans made me remember that the world is full of wonder. So much more than just what we experience day to day.

There is a place that I would want to visit again and again. Christmas in Bruges would be amazing. Please tell me you will come back here. If you don't, it will break my heart. I will haunt you if you don't. I swear I will.

I know this isn't going to end well. I can feel it. I don't mean this trip; I mean this fucking disease. It has me. I'm trying to fight it, but I have so little left. People say they survived cancer and they fought every day, all day. Fuck that. I feel like I am fighting every day all day to keep food down and not fall on uneven roads. If that's what they mean, I'm St Joan of fucking Arc. If they mean actively trying to fight off my cancer, I'm closer to St Jude.

You're going to be okay without me. You'll see. Everything has been leading to this. Hopefully, after we get home, I can go in my sleep. You won't even know I've gotten worse until I'm gone. I love you more than anything.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Molly

PS

People say they like souvenirs. They don't. Don't waste the luggage space."

Paris

Paris was a blur. Molly acted as if she didn't want to stop for a second. We went to the Louvre, ate at every cafe in the city, I think, saw the Moulin Rouge, and had angry locals tell to fuck off seven times. Molly counted. She said her aunt was once in Paris and was told to fuck off 93 times in an hour. She said it was during the Vietnam War. Her aunt was wearing an American flag shirt. According to Molly, she wasn't wearing anything else.

Molly said there was a hole in the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral. It was put there by her great-grandfather's friend during a game of Parcheesi. According to her, the Parcheesi game got out of hand, shots were fired, and a hole was blown in the top of the cathedral.

I wish I had checked before it burned down.

We went to the cathedral in hopes of attending mass. We weren't allowed in because Molly's bag was too large. She walked away, stuffed it up her shirt, stowed it around on her back, and hunched over. You know where I'm going here. They didn't laugh.

Our stay was lovely. We drank far too much wine. It tasted fresher than the tap water and was cheaper than the water at the cafes. The days went by too quickly, and it was soon time to head to Vienna. I was excited because I had always wanted to visit Vienna. We left Paris on a rainy Tuesday evening by train.

"Paris - What a wonderful, beautiful city. So full of life, death, love, sadness. I loved my time with you here. I thought the usher at Notre Dame was going to punch me in my hunchback. That would have been hilarious.

The best part of the trip was looking at a random piece of art at the Louvre with you and acting as if it were a truly important work. The crowd that gathered was astounded at our "knowledge" of the artist. I had never heard of them.

By the way, when did you decide that wine was meant to be consumed by the gallon instead of the glass? That was some Olympic-level consumption there! As they say, "We'll always have Paris!"

Love you forever

Molly

PS

I went on a camping trip with a close friend of Alan Ginsberg when I was 17. She was rather dull, but I found a rattlesnake in my shoe in the morning, and my coffee was gone. She swore she had never heard the poem Howl. I hitchhiked back to San Francisco from there."