Jørgen decided to take a walk; he hadn’t done the dishes in a month, and there smelled of death and cat food all over the flat. Or was it just a death cat? After a month, it was hard to smell the difference and he needed some air. Of course the lift turned out to be broken, so he had to take the stairs down, past the sleeping homeless people. He squeezed the letter feverishly, and first at the pavement he remembered, that she was on holiday and wouldn’t get it anyway until October.
For a moment, he hesitated. Then creased the envelope together and threw it away. She could wait, she could! The traffic was deafening, and the smell of chips and roasted almonds gave him suddenly a desire for sweets – loads of sweets. Unfortunately, he was out of petrol, and there was a long way to Gnaskorama, Odense’s only remaining sweets store.
“Bummer,” he thought. “Now I have to walk. It’s either that or the underground.”
Downhearted he stared out in the traffic. Even though he knew that it wouldn’t matter, he took his mobile phone out and called the taxi corporation. As usually, the line was busy and after a couple of unsuccessful attempts, he hang up and began resigned to shuffle towards the pedestrian crossing. But then he got an idea. The reserve can was in the boot! Of course! Why had he not thought of that? All the greater was his disappointment when he opened the boot and saw the can was gone – and that someone had filled the boot with crisps and used nappies!
“What the hell is now that all about!?” he burst out, as he stared speechless down at the trash.
Instinctive he stepped a footstep back and was almost hit by a lorry, which swayed to avoid him. Chocked he leaped to his right, out in front of a big Volvo with a caravan. The driver tried desperately to avoid but grazed him with the bonnet, after which the caravan disengaged itself, rolled around and crushed three motorbikes, which were parked out in front of a chemist. From the car park, a mom with a pram stared at the devastations with open mouth, while the car exploded in a cloud of aluminum splints. The last thing Jørgen remembered, before he lost his consciousness, was the colour of her rubber boots, which were red like postmen. Then everything became dark. He woke up by someone flashing him in the eyes with a flashlight. First, he tried to ignore the light, but when the person also began to fiddle with his zip on his raincoat, he decided that it was enough.
“Hands off!” he groaned and opened his eyes – and stared straight into the barrel of a sawn-off shotgun.
“Surprised?” she smiled. “Then wait till you see what I have bought you, while you were on holiday.”
“Let me guess,” he answered and tried to sound cool. “Could it be a whole bunch of used nappies? I mean, crisps would kind of be too obvious, right?”
“How funny you are,” she said and cocked the gun. Her smile was gone now. “You would perhaps rather have preferred fruit gum – or ice lollies?”
He cleared his throat awkwardly: “Sweetheart, you know how I love trainers and aubergines. They turn me on too wild.”
(To be continued)