Amsterdam
I like waking up to the smell of weed and you, hearing the noise of the streets, the early morning wake and bake-rs, the bin men and Vinnie’s Deli. Walking the tiny lanes, finding shops selling old tat and new tat and beautiful, beautiful shoes. Watching shy young boys walk proudly out of red windows (they are men now) and made up women beckon you in, laughing at the idea of sex with anyone else. Why pay for dingy, dirty beds when we can make love in the sunshine with the windows open and Animal Planet on the telly? Talking about history and art and beauty and the past, never the future. Drinking warm wine in plastic cups to our memories, tripping on the cobbles and blaming my heels. Fixing the world over a joint, we know the answers even if we forget the questions. Packing up my endless clothes, hiding from the rain, killing time till we have to return. Amsterdam will forever mean you.
