Inside the night they creep forward. Those who don't want to be seen.

Sometimes I'm there among them...

I sense how they finger their weapons while they stare at you.

*

Going to the gas station. Feeling the discomfort of meeting strangers several dozen meters away while our steps echo in the darkness. Unsteady glances mixed with hard stares. No healthy and sane individual normally wanders around at this time...

Getting the feeling when you physically return to the places you were constantly forced to pass in your youth on your way to school, in your free time with friends; all these atoposes...

In a way, you haven't gotten anywhere in life at all.

You are where you were then and that's all.

*
Roaming around these areas where I haven't set foot in a long time. Remembering all the little events from a more mature perspective. Looking towards the apartments where acquaintances, and even engagements, have once lived. The journey goes between Kvarntorget to Österängen and on through Fålhagen. Looking cautiously up at the windows. Thinking in scenarios: What would I do if my old friend's mother, who I know still lives there, were to peek out and see me right then? Maybe a minor trauma, but still something I wouldn't feel completely comfortable with...

Do you mind honesty?

No?

Well then.