

Gösta and you meet up after another day of shit shovelling. You go for a real long walk. You end up in the same place every time. The drunks growl. You are welcome. You sit down on a couch in a very dark room. You talk and stare into the wall. It's not your block. Slouching in the sofa, you drift off to different parts of the world. You view magical sights and hear magical sounds. Your circles grow smaller and smaller, rings on your fingers, pledges. The common & the exasperation, how they coalesce. Gösta is a mouse. Gösta is an elephant. Gösta is quiet. You are quiet.


It's a warm day. You stand at the foot of Kakola hill. You look out on the city. It is yours. You live there. You live there more and more each year. You think about how the city gets different. It moulds you. You talk about moving on. Gösta doesn't. Gösta sniffs the air like a dog. Gösta is not concerned about the future. Will you be a writer, or a scientist? Gösta does not know what he will turn into. "But you'll have to plan for a career". Gösta does not think career. Gösta is told a lot of things. It does not always matter. Gösta does not always listen.


1 comment:
Måste bara kommentera att pizzan i mina gamla kvarter i Portsa är den bästa. Hoppaa Gösta tyckte om den.
Rock on Gösta!
-K
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