Expensive lip gloss, an Irish newspaper especially imported for me, the friend who knows me best and causes me most grief.
A week spent discussing whether we go to heaven when we die, and what to do when (if) we get there. And then we discovered that heaven has branched out to earth, to a little café at the corner of Stortorget, Stockholm, where candles burn on ancient wooden tables among sweet-smelling hyacinths and peace embraces you as you order the chocolate cake with whipped cream.
Wandering around Stockholm, Venice of the North, where it seems nothing can ever go wrong.
Sleeping on the bottom of a ship, on the bottom of the sea, rocked gently by underwater waves. Until a Swedish teenager puked outside the cabin door. Then I was glad I was going home.
3 comments:
And you wander around so much that you get small happinnesses [sic] so easily.
And here I am fettered with my own sickness. Heh.
Wandering is so wearying that small happinesses are easy to appreciate. Hope you can throw off your fetters very soon, Prince.
i wish i could go to this coffee shop,it seems heavenly,and i am blogrolling you,hope you dont mind :D
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