Member-only story
Leave It Behind in Amsterdam
Stories begin in the most unlikely places.
It’s not every day a man spends an afternoon alone in Amsterdam. I wandered through the maze of shops, offering everything from comic books to cannabis, acting like every other tourist in the area. I glimpsed two French girls — their rapid-fire language danced between them — as they took selfies in front of the canal. The shorter one, a blonde with a bob cut, puckered her lips as she blew a kiss to the device in her hand.
Millennials. I would never understand them.
Down the alleyways I went, desperate for distraction. Neon red signs flashed, trying to entice the wayward straggler to stop in a doorway and chat a while. The air was chilly after the bus ride from the airport, and I had only hours before I had to meet with my colleagues aboard the ship on the Rhine.
The wind easily cut through the suit-coat I wore. I stopped for a moment to loosen my tie — only to find my eyes snag on a window across the street.
At first, you might have mistaken the sight for a simple shop window. Two mannequins stood, emblazoned with low-cut dresses, yet in the middle lay prone a woman whose back was to me. Her brunette hair fanned behind her, a black lace negligee the only thing keeping her with any shreds of decency, and black stockings…
