It’s official, it’s happened, I almost got hit by an Amsterdam bike.
I crossed the street and he rounded the corner at the same time. He made no apparent move to swerve- the legend is true. This bloody cold makes me slow, which was good because I didn’t freak out, but rather hopped quickly as I could onto the sidewalk, pulling in my behind- still barely enough space for him to pass. But he did. Pass.
A woman walking by, smiled, probably, I thought, because of the cute way I avoided collision.
I can still hear classical music sometimes.
Can I live here, please?
Maybe travel is bad for me. Through it, I imagine myself living lives, so many lives, too many lives I can’t possibly live.
Though- maybe- it’s a good way to collect ideas and ideals, so when/if they all come together some day, I’ll know.