I Amsterdam (Completed)

Chapter 3.5 - Emma

It was obvious when I had reached the store. Its exterior was decorated with backpacks to catch glances from potential customers. It definitely caught mine.

I wandered inside, examining the walls for a sackpack. The store was small, but cozy. It had a dim, vintage feeling, and I could smell fresh leather floating in the air. The whole wall where the front door should be was missing, allowing the store to stretch towards the street with small booths, where some pedestrians came to browse the store's offerings. A desk was placed in the middle of the store where customers could buy their items.

I walked up to the desk, where the storekeeper stood, talking to what looked like his wife; they both looked around the same age. The man had hair so sparse, you could see the rosy pink skin of his scalp, and the lady had some strands sprinkled with white in her auburn hair. Wrinkles masked both their faces, but they still stood tall and strong, with a friendly smile sewn onto their lips. Will they die together of old age? I thought. As happy as this? Remembering the day they first met and their long life they faced together after?

"Welcome," the man greeted me. "How may we help you?"

"I was wondering if you had any sackpacks?" I asked.

"Ah, yes, right out here," the man replied, gesturing as he led me through the missing wall to outside, and pointed to the corner of the store, where a hooked coat rack stood to the side, its arms bearing sackpacks.

"Perfect, thank you," I said, and the man left me as I began browsing through the coat rack.

One sackpack that immediately caught my attention was a black colored one with a neon green stripe on each side. The texture seemed sturdy, and the black color made it hard for dust to be noticeable.

I took it to the storekeeper's desk. "This one please."

The man took the sackpack and entered it into his register. "20 euros please."

20 euros? That's a lot. My previous sackpack cost much less than that, but the high price may mean it has high value. In other words, it should probably be a good sackpack that would last me years.

I handed him the money.

"Would you like a bag?"

"Yes, please." Who knows when an extra bag may come in handy?

"So where do you come from?" the man asked me, handing me my product.

I paused, all my possible answers racing through my mind. The US, France, the UK, Italy, Switzerland, Germany...

"Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't strike me as Dutch. You speak very fluent English," the man apologized. "I assumed you were from the U.K. or America."

"No, no. I'm not from the Netherlands," I confirmed.

The man looked at me expectantly, and I laughed lightly to shake my awkwardness off.

"I come from many places."