(Fragment Chapter 7)


I was sitting on the edge of the Blauwe Brug in front of my house and I wasn’t the only one. It was wonderfully sunny weather that day, ideal for Queen’s Day. My neighbors’ bar, Palma’s bar across the street, and a music stage near City Hall: the city was at my fingertips, but I didn’t have to look any further than this triangle. Thousands of partying people on and under the bridge. I watched the parading flotilla as it went down the Amstel. A swarm of anything that would float: big boats and little boats, rafts and dinghies. For young and old. Music, bonhomie, and fun.

            Suddenly, I heard and felt a low rumbling noise and I had no idea where it was coming from. A monotonous pounding sound that kept getting louder.