upon the leaving of Lars' residens
Posted: February 9th, 2009, 7:34 pm
Upon leaving Lars’ house on Saturday, as I randomly and apparently without a clue had come kicking at his door, I remembered why I came.
It was for the hell of it.
It was because he didn’t expect no one to come. Matter of fact, no one expected anyone to come anywhere last Saturday night. We had a baby blizzard. And it was the cold kind. Snow flying everywhere, couldn’t look up straight and shit. I was glad I wore a blue coat. The nasty thing reached high. And though the plows where out rooming the streets, they ran out of fuel and willpower. Shit flying everywhere. It was a baby blizzard, I thought. I’d never heard about one.
Now, I stood there on his stairs and saw what the world had become, a traceless path for a desert lion. For my traces where brushed away, no not brushed, they where covered, as if I’d never… anyway, it was all a hole lot of nothing. Nothing but me. In a blue coat.
I was there to copy this new shit that had come to light. The cassette he found of our old band, Hobo and the bad backs.
And now ihad to cross town again. it’s a small town.
Took me 45 minutes to go home. If id go directly. In between was the Saturday night.
I had’nt had a drink all day. I thought I deserved one.
Well, to make a story shorter, or indeed to make a story good.
Ill skip the part when I sat down in the pub called the night train and ordered up a ice cold San Miguel. Thing is this guy sitting next to me.
I didn’t recognize him, so I didn’t talk to man. that’s what we do in ma town. Or don’t.
After a half an hour I said: du er ikke herfra vel?
Im sorry, he said, I don’t speak Norwegian.
Oh, I said. I said “your not from around here, are ya”?
Im from Austria, the young fella replied.
Been here long?
A month.
How many has spoken to you?
You’re the first.
And that’s how it is here. I met people at pubs here whos been sittn around for three years without anybody talking to them.
I scared the fucking daylight out of grown men by offering them a toast all of a sudden. And its all men. All the lonely men.
So I gave him my scarf. The black and yellow. Explained shit to him about the presence of the population. Dude was 21. Worker. I took him to my regular pub to see some real people. Met my mates. And they told him all about me. So now where in ma livin room, cause he wanted to listen to this german music we’ve made. And he wanted a reefer and I couldn’t bare to see him like that. Hooking up with the nastys to get a fair deal.
So we stumbled through the weather and it was just 10 minutes away. I served some cocations and layed it on him.
And like he said: I never thought id be sitting in a living room in this town listening to a norweigian band playing German songs about Commissary Derrick drinking a cocasion and feeling… at home.
Who the fuck brings home a dude on a Saturday night when the bedroom fresh and clean and all ready to go?
fucking hell. The shit I do for this town.
It was for the hell of it.
It was because he didn’t expect no one to come. Matter of fact, no one expected anyone to come anywhere last Saturday night. We had a baby blizzard. And it was the cold kind. Snow flying everywhere, couldn’t look up straight and shit. I was glad I wore a blue coat. The nasty thing reached high. And though the plows where out rooming the streets, they ran out of fuel and willpower. Shit flying everywhere. It was a baby blizzard, I thought. I’d never heard about one.
Now, I stood there on his stairs and saw what the world had become, a traceless path for a desert lion. For my traces where brushed away, no not brushed, they where covered, as if I’d never… anyway, it was all a hole lot of nothing. Nothing but me. In a blue coat.
I was there to copy this new shit that had come to light. The cassette he found of our old band, Hobo and the bad backs.
And now ihad to cross town again. it’s a small town.
Took me 45 minutes to go home. If id go directly. In between was the Saturday night.
I had’nt had a drink all day. I thought I deserved one.
Well, to make a story shorter, or indeed to make a story good.
Ill skip the part when I sat down in the pub called the night train and ordered up a ice cold San Miguel. Thing is this guy sitting next to me.
I didn’t recognize him, so I didn’t talk to man. that’s what we do in ma town. Or don’t.
After a half an hour I said: du er ikke herfra vel?
Im sorry, he said, I don’t speak Norwegian.
Oh, I said. I said “your not from around here, are ya”?
Im from Austria, the young fella replied.
Been here long?
A month.
How many has spoken to you?
You’re the first.
And that’s how it is here. I met people at pubs here whos been sittn around for three years without anybody talking to them.
I scared the fucking daylight out of grown men by offering them a toast all of a sudden. And its all men. All the lonely men.
So I gave him my scarf. The black and yellow. Explained shit to him about the presence of the population. Dude was 21. Worker. I took him to my regular pub to see some real people. Met my mates. And they told him all about me. So now where in ma livin room, cause he wanted to listen to this german music we’ve made. And he wanted a reefer and I couldn’t bare to see him like that. Hooking up with the nastys to get a fair deal.
So we stumbled through the weather and it was just 10 minutes away. I served some cocations and layed it on him.
And like he said: I never thought id be sitting in a living room in this town listening to a norweigian band playing German songs about Commissary Derrick drinking a cocasion and feeling… at home.
Who the fuck brings home a dude on a Saturday night when the bedroom fresh and clean and all ready to go?
fucking hell. The shit I do for this town.
