Rotterdam

Holland. It's flat here. Highways full of small cars and lined with short, clean buildings, soccer fields, neatly squared and irrigated plots of muddy farmland roamed over by dirty puffs of sheep. It should be three in the morning but it’s eleven. Even the garbage trucks are clean and modest. Rows of houses with pyramid roofs and smoking chimneys are warming the Dutch families. Hundreds or more sheep pockmark the green and grey fields, chewing and growing their wool. I can't understand the graffiti here anymore than I can in America. There is harsh modern architecture set against the damp softness. The metro is a two-story, yellow train that travels quietly. There is moss on everything.