The Trash
He looked out of the dirty window, which was covered with fingerprints and dead insects all over. He was sweating in the torn shirt he had put on this morning, before his long journey back to Denmark. He was already excited about his next lunch, rye bread with liver pâté and beetroot, just the way he liked it, just the way he knew it. It reminded him, that he had to go to the grocery before they closed.
He had sold his house to fulfill the dream of his life; to become a tour-guide in Africa together with his best friend.
His friend, Lasse Henriksen, left back home the week before, when he received a call from his mother, telling him that his dad was found shot on Nørrebrø. Lasse’s dad was a cop, recently celebrating his 30-year anniversary on the force. Lasse had to make it to the funeral, and support his family during the hard time. He hadn’t heard from Lasse since. He had tried reaching him on his cell, but with no luck.
Wednesday d. 16th of April 15.09 o’clock
Smallville
Sigurd was pulled out of his thoughts, when the bus driver announced the final stop threw the speakers of the bus. Sigurd dragged his luggage out of the backdoor of the bus, and the bus went on along the empty and quiet road. He inhaled the fresh air, and felt his stomach sizzling of joy. He finally had reached his destination after a long journey.
He had rented a weekend cottage in the edge of the small town of Smallville in the Northern part of Sjælland. He found the description of the cottage and followed it exactly as he had written on the back of an old letter.
After walking for a while, he turned on to a narrow and trashy street, and on that street behind an overgrown cranberry bush a little red house showed up. On the aslant hanging mailbox an address was written: Rumlevej 2. He dragged himself threw the creaking, red garden gate, which desperately needed new hinges