Water flows between streets, falls from the sky, washes the city and drenches me as I walk huddled under an umbrella that bravely defies the constant beating of an incessant rain but cannot win against the wind. Some may say that this Sodom and Gomorrah of a place needs this cleansing ritual to wash away its sins. But my Amsterdam, for all the stains, wrinkles and lines that countless people have left on her face, remains pure and beautiful like an old soul who has seen the world but has not been warped by it.


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