“Then maybe later we can go for a tour on a canal boat.” “Um, okay?” I said.
Mom left a five-euro note under her saucer and then kissed me on the top of the head,
whispering, “I love love love you,” which was two more loves than usual.
Gus motioned down to the shadows of the branches intersecting and coming apart on the concrete.
“Beautiful, huh?” “Yeah,” I said. “Such a good metaphor,” he mumbled. “Is it now?” I asked.
“The negative image of things blown together and then blown apart,” he said.
Before us, hundreds of people passed, jogging and biking and Rollerblading.
Amsterdam was a city designed for movement and activity, a city that would rather not travel by car, and so inevitably I felt excluded from it.
But God, was it beautiful, the creek carving a path around the huge tree,
a heron standing still at the water’s edge, searching for a breakfast amid the millions of elm petals floating in the water.
But Augustus didn’t notice. He was too busy watching the shadows move.
Finally, he said, “I could look at this all day, but we should go to the hotel.”
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