Gold City | Amsterdam

A slate blue cloud consumes the sky. It towers over red brick buildings. In the early morning, the studio becomes black.

I drink hot foamed milk and strong coffee before biking to the central market where a grey-haired man will bellow the day’s deals.

A kilo of cherries for a euro! Kilo of tomatoes a euro! Crochets, 1.50!

At night a stage sets out on the canal along Prinsengracht. Red lights illuminate the black sky. On a velvet set, an opera singer rehearses before a white haired pianist and line of musicians. A violinist sets the steady pace of “Amsterdam!”

A producer races across the stage. He wears blue jeans and a grey tweed jacket. His long hair hangs around his leather face in loose strands. The band deliberates for long minutes between each performance. A crowd gathers on all sides of the canal, along the bridges and from apartment windows. Elderly couples sing along. Boats pass, carrying late night soirees of wine and cheese. A high-spirited group of men entertain the growing audience as they sail along. “Oh Amsterdam! Oh Amsterdam!” They balance bottles of beer in their hands and wail their arms back and forth, shaking their hips. “Oh, oh, Amsterdam!” The crowd cheers.  Laughter and applause follows them down the waterway, following their drunken beats. “Oh, Oh, Amsterdam!!”

A formal outdoor concert performs the following night. The opera singer is fully costumed in an elegant gown. The streets are alive with cyclists, cars and hoards of partying. Boats team through the canals. They fill the liquid roads with beer and colorful scarves.

Sunday morning is silent. Silverware clangs from apartment windows, resounding down thin thruways. A beer can lies next to a red mushroom in a kindergarten courtyard. Wine bottles stand empty on dirty newspaper mats. A warm breeze dances down the canal. The stage has disappeared.