Steps across the continent. A balcony in Rome, vino and veritas. Murakami in Budapest, when I was on my Nietzsche kick and you insisted on singing Ella Fitzgerald through the night. Surviving a phone booth battle in Bratislava, then the nighttime visitors from Australia. A doorway in London, covered in mayonnaise. Old bookshops and stale cigarettes. Then Amsterdam. Poetry and farewells.
A ‘hello’ from afar, dear friend. A digital kiss, or three. Dutch style.
Left cheek, right cheek, left.