January 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
This city felt so good to me. The exquisitely rich Dutch coffee, the sickly sweet perfume of mary-jane seeping from the coffee houses and the capricious cyclists. A city that writes poetry on it’s walls and feels no need to smother the contingent who pursue change. Even the buildings that have queues of bricks ready to slip into the asphalt are dressed in art.
Missing a place is not so different to missing a lover. You remember all the nice parts.