10/06/2012

The memory of memory loss

It was a Friday, like any Friday really. The end of the working week, the start of what could possibly be a relaxing weekend. Yes, to relax, to not think about work (hah!) and to just.... enjoy life. To just stop and smell the flowers, listen to the birds, ponder at the never ending light blue skies of the north of the northern hemisphere.

Then I had a corona. You know, when you feel like you really deserve it. Just the one. One beer, that's FINE, right? And then, just before leaving work I downed a glass of fireball.

I went home to Tatters and mine to find that our combined stash of booze exceeded anything we've ever seen on a weekend planned for two people in a small flat. Surely, the only right thing to do was to drink it? Well the Rosé wine anyway. And then the bottle of Fireball, it was right there in the freezer. All cold and stuff. So, we had to bring it in my bag. Anyone could see that.

KGB. Static noise. Fireball. Static noise. Strand. Static noise. Niklas's. Saturday morning.
And then, after finding mr Tatters, like the real grown-ups we are, we went to Trädgården.






























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