It was a september in the 90s. I was new in Amsterdam and she studied Spanish in the university. I went to pick her up after class and we would bicycle back, her riding and me on the back. We went home where we would cook dinner and listen to music while I drew her. This tunnel was the entry where I waited. Old men sell books, still today, mainly humanities and pockets. I thought of this place as a magic one, taken straight out from a film.
The Great Unbundling
Home, the heart. In an Amsterdam building, about to be torn down, Marjan Teeuwen, built the interior in giant stone piles.
Bothered with structures
Just passing by
Take your pick
It'll be all right
First let me apologize for being obvious here is just that after reading to my friend Luis Mendo who recently wrote a piece "Never walk alone"