"Ralph wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart,
and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend called Piggy."
~William Golding - "Lord of the Flies"~
My stool actually trembled underneath me as the crush of them came hurtling down the alleyway - I mean hurtling in an absolutely hurtful way - the way stray stars fall and careless wishes are made from the celestial fray. I sat my spoon down on the bar and looked at Zach and at the lovely bartender as she remarked, "This is why I want to get out of Amsterdam." (More about her later.) They, they, they the unnamable they rushed by the windows screaming. It was this mob of teenagers moving as coolly as a landslide. I sat frozen in my chair for a minute or two as they stormed by the window.
I figured it was atypical when one of the bartenders showed a look of concern as she quickly moved to close the door. The people in the crowd slammed into each other like they were in a mosh pit under the control of heavy beats and primeval sweat.
Anarchy abated?
They crushed by in waves screaming and laughing like mad suicidal lemmings bound for the edge of a cliff. I got up out of my seat, walked toward the door, and slowly opened it hoping to get some sense of what was happening. The curious cat purrs next to calamity. The curious cat purrs underneath unconventionality. The curious cat purrs pure irrationality.
I could hear the tramping sound of hoof beats and out of the corner of my eye I made out the figures of uniformed officers on horseback dispersing the riot. The sound of a few coherent voices amidst the throng screamed something about a fight or no fight or the absurd reasoning of no reason at all. I never figured out why all of that happened but it was definitely unexpected. I took severeal more shots and closed the door, choosing to observe the mêlée from the safety of the window seat.
Black booted order.
As the police on horseback slowly returned the day's daily dose of drama to dull the foot soldiers moved in to get a tighter control of the situation. This is what becomes of civil disobedience in the end, where men of good conscience choose to stand against the onslaught of the cold forces of conformity. All I could see were metaphors for actual life. When rebels rise up to cause a disturbance, even if they do prevail as time goes on and more distance is created from their act of defiance the same corrupting influences of conformity win. People settle into their roles as free men and become slaves to their natures which crave certainty and routine as much or more so than they do the liberating forces of chaos.
I took several more shots of the crowd and the police dispersing it before I returned to my seat as tipsy as a twirling top. I asked Zach if the police that were on foot were as intimidating as they looked, and he replied that they were because he'd felt it.