The window is open and through the inch-wide gap, soft cigarette smoke is finding its way into the apartment. There is someone standing down at the pavement in the sunset, smoking a whole package of Camels.
The smell of the smoke feels so fabulously well-known that I have to glance down at the person, but to my disappointment I find a complete stranger, a tall figure dressed up as if he was to attend a funeral.
I watch him for a while, he smokes a cigarette and then starts a new one straight away, like he wanted time to pass.
He looks up at me after he lights his cigarette, and he looks straight through me.
I open the window and carefully lean out from it.
- Got a lighter?
I slowly wave the package of cigarettes in my right hand.
- Of course, but you're on the second floor, he chuckles and puts his cigarette to his lips.
Du skriver ditt nummer med blå kulspets på min hand och när jag vaknar morgonen efter och tittar mig själv i badrumsspegeln så står det klistrat på min panna.
Gäspar äntligen vid 3:21, det håller på att ljusna utanför fönstret. Jag dunsar ner i en halvbäddad säng, gäspar ytterligare två gånger. En bitter man har ringt in till telefonsvararen på Vaken med P3 & P4 och han pratar om det träliga vädret i vad som känns som en oändlighet.
