Delft

Delft

The cobbled streets along which we hobbled. The perfect straight canals
and the proud ducks, lurking under the hump-backed bridges: passages
over the black, algal, but inviting river. On either side of the roman
road, ruler straight canal, teetering houses bricked with perfect
cuboid miniatures of red.

The streets angular and jagged; rectangular and square; no not a curve
in sight (; because Macavity's not there). No water natural, no earth
natural, no stone natural. An artwork of man. On either side of the
poplar canal, poplar trees. Organised in rows once more by human hands.
What a natural feeling of safety.

An open door gives out smells of toasted bread and cheer; roasted
peanuts and beer. Welcomed in you come, sit by the window and watch the
passing bikes. Round wheels-a-turning, not a helmet in sight, just
lights.
A little basket arrives. Two slices of toast, ham, cheese and....
Pineapple?