Then she walked across the bridge to the Leidseplein. Quiet Amsterdam, the land below sea level, at the get. So many bicycle riders solo.
Just beyond the Americain Hotel with the Café Americain in it, she saw a ticket event office. Who knows? she thought. I could see if anything’s on, surprise Alexi when he comes back home. Home? Jungian slip?
Ah, there on the list was Joe Lovano. Vivi loved Lovano, the great saxophonist. Lovano and his jazz nonet. She and Johnny had seen him a couple times in T.O.
“Are there tickets for Joe Lovano left?”
“Sure. Good choice. You like jazz?”
“I do.”
“He’s at the Bimhuis.”
“Is that far?”
“Not at all, down by the water, near the Central Station.”
“Two for Lovano,” she said.
Amsterdam and Barcelona. Like two sides of her personality. You could say
