Back in black

Back again.

I'm sitting at our table at our new place at Østerbro. It's late. I should really go to bed. Just finished reviewing a short paper about wireless protocols. That was nice to get out of the way, but it sort of eliminated the idea that I sit down and tune out a bit before going to bed.

I hear someone shuffling drunkenly past outside. This is a rather nice neighboorhood, so it's not an everyday occurence. (Even the brothel downstreet has a pretty little entrance with green leaves framing the doorway.)

I'm reminded of our neighboorhood tramp in Paris. A dishevelled spot-bearded middle-aged man, who we used to see sitting on his cardboard - eating the snippets of food that he got from somewhere, I don't know where. I used to wake in the night sometimes from his cramped vomiting - his stomach not being able to hold the food and cheap liquor that he'd quaffed during the day. Lena wanted me to leave our insulated sleeping mat for him. I forgot it in the confusion when leaving the apartment. I forgot.

I feel ashamed.