It was grey and dark, and Vivienne walked along an Amsterdam canal. Northern light, and she pulled the collar of her trench coat up around her neck. She missed Alexi already. Stupid, but there you are. She walked in green lichen mind. She walked easy in the city where tides met time, and everything was shored up. The thing about Amsterdam, besides the thing about space and restraint, is that Amsterdam had been sinking from its birth. A simple old rose beside an exquisite cup, a Zurbarán by gloaming. Low wet light and the lorn music returned.
Lorn: Lady Pink on soul sax. Lorn: the condition of women. Lady Fuchsia on anti-fascist saxophone. Down by water she walked with the objects of her photographic desire and solitary moxie. The idea is to be the tool kit for others, for living through t
