People walking with determination. A purpose. Somewhere to be.
I’ve reached my destination. My only purpose to be where I
am.
Three generations. Taller as they get younger. The matriarch,
whose hair is losing the battle against grey, presents as tired but calm. The
other bookend, the younger generation. Her eyes darting back and forth to take
in every detail or to find something of interest. In the middle, daughter and
mother. Her expression remote, thinking about what she’d be doing if she weren’t
walking towards Dam Square.
The seagull eyes the piece of discarded pastry claimed by a
furiously pecking pigeon. The pigeon puffs up. The seagull lunges. The pigeon
swallows its pride, choosing flight over fight. The seagull swallows its prize.
She’s startled by the sound of the can she inadvertently
kicked across the cobblestones. She kicks at it again. This time on purpose.
Misses. Shrugs. Moves on.
A large Adidas logo shin tattoo is repeated on the calf. Thick
lines circle the leg above and below the logos. The foot that belongs to this
leg is securely tied into a Nike shoe.
The teenager carrying the plant in protective hard plastic
displays none of the enthusiasm of the plant’s bright violet flowers. He plods
forward. Blank stare. Maybe counting his steps has his little sister offers an unrelenting monologue in machine gun Spanish.
The hair on his upper lip is long and has been coiffed into
giant curls extending both left and right from his cheeks. It must inhibit
eating, drinking, and maneuvering through narrow spaces. Mask mandates must’ve
been his worst nightmare.
Two comfortably lethargic huskies stroll by unaccompanied. A
few steps behind appears a man holding unattached leashes. Following him another
huskie. A pack of sorts.
In all likelihood, the Mickey Mouse rolling a joint T-shirt
is not Disney approved.
The illustrated woman stops for a smoke. Her balaclava of tattoos
leaves her face the only undecorated skin on her shaved head.
The delicate white parchment skin of the old man’s face
topped with jet black hair gives the impression of a vampire using a walker.
Stopping abruptly, he pats his pockets. Chest. Side. Back.
Slight panic. Chest. Side. Back. Relaxes when the sunglasses are discovered on
his head.
The curly-haired dog seems quite relaxed in the baby carrier
strapped to the stocky woman’s chest. The pup is bigger than the typical “carry
around K9". The woman turns her round, yellow-lensed sunglasses towards me,
smiles, and says, “Hi.” She smiles and says, Hi” to everyone she passes. The dog
is uninterested in greeting people and just pants contentedly.
A window washer addresses each 15-foot-high display window
with expertise clothed in calm efficiency. One day I’ll write the way he cleans
glass.
_________________________
View from a sidewalk cafe. Amsterdam
Part 2
View from a sidewalk cafe. Amsterdam
Part 3
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