Heatwave

It's midnight, and it's scorching - according to my internal thermometer, at least. I'm sitting in the window sill - in my shorts - trying to catch the frail gusts of wind, that manage to find it's way from the harbour. As usual, I should just go to bed - and read something to still my thoughts. Quell my mind.

The black-greenish bug that has been circling the lamp on my table just found the lightbulb. It's now limping sideways on the table. I'm somewhat puzzled by the lifeforce of the creature.

It's quiet. It's quieter here at Østerbro than at Christianshavn; or Nørrebro, where I lived years ago. I look down at the guy that just arrived on his bike. He finishes typing something on his cellphone. He parks his bike, and proceeds to unlock the front door to no. 14 across the street. I follow his figure up the stairs to the second floor.

I decide to try to end the suffering of the bug. I manage to hit it with the base of my hand. A drop of blood is smeared on my hand where I hit it. Apparently a mosquito - I wonder if it was me, that it got to. I wipe the blood off, and try forcibly to think of something else.

I can hear the S-train leaving Nordhavn in the distance. The guy upstairs starts his late-night exercises. I take that as my cue to go to bed.

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.