It was as if they were making a final sprint, starting at the Rokin, going past Madame Tussauds. Suddenly, there they were, laughing, in the center of Dam Square with their bright red Public Bikes. She was a gorgeous young woman, her hair in complete disarray, with an indescribably beautiful, captivating look in her eye. He had a triumphant grin on his face, as if they had just experienced the greatest sensation of the century. Sometimes you just know right away. I walked over to them and almost intuitively asked her if I could take his picture. This way, he simply could not refuse, if he had wanted to. She beamed even more radiantly. Earlier that evening I nearly fell, slipping on the wilted flowers still covering the ground more than a week after Remembrance Day. The same thing nearly happened to this limber man as he approached the Pylon. A bit later he told me where he was from. The southern island that was literally being flooded with boot refugees, the land of Godfathers who had, until very recently, determined for themselves who was welcome and who was not… And now, this Amsterdam… Today, it was impossible not to smile. From a distance, his wife gave a friendly wave as he caught up with her.