Amsterdam.

People here sit facing the canals but have their eyes closed towards the sun. The smell of marijuana wafts down every street -
coffee shops take a different kind of business than the name suggests.
And when night comes, the girls are out and the tourists open their eyes wide to the Red Light District.
I'm ill as I walk past the young boys and businessmen peering into the windows. One man enters, the curtain closes.
The lack of sobriety in this place shows by the sheer volume of the visitor’s voices.
Lives seemingly empty and cheapened by this nightlife.

Below me sits a woman with heavy black eyeliner, cheap jewels, polished nails and a colored scarf with white dots.
A full pack of cigarettes is her meal.

Winston Kingdom.

Dress. Ostinato. Labasheeda. 05.26

We are the trees.

I was told I had a pretty voice.
Although he was surely drunk, it was somehow pleasant.
This place has lost a bit of its charm.
Perhaps it’s because the last visit was flawless and unable to be matched.
I saw a darker side of this place, and through a different set of eyes.
As well, having a protective elder along somehow taints the process of light easy travelling and creativity.
Although the company is nice and the drinks are free.

White wine and black cigarettes.