I rode my rented bicycle to the Anne Frank House, but there was nowhere to lock it. Continuing on, I turned left at Westermarkt. I saw a kippah-wearing young man offer his hand to a hijab-wearing elderly woman disembarking the tram.
I rode to the Homomonument, but there was nowhere to lock my bike. I turned around and continued east. At the Royal Palace, I saw a nun taking a picture for two middle-aged male tourists, holding hands.
I turned south, arriving at a café on Spuistraat, but there was nowhere to lock my bike. I saw a skateboarding teenager pick up a dropped €10 banknote and return it to its owner, a businessman in a tailored suit. I nudged the kickstand with my foot and popped into the café.
The bicycle was still there when I got back.