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16 august. location: kongens nytorv metro, copenhagen. time: two minutes to two in the afternoon.
things seen today: elderly american tourist with perfect coral-red lips and a blue summer hat. one tall peroxided boy ordering coffee at a bagel store, waiting outside with cigarette. all trains to roskilde cancelled or severely delayed after we had bought tickets (the heaviest rain since 1931 two nights ago). wondering still why the french impressionist rooms in the ny carlsberg glyptotek smelled so sweet, like wet brown sugar. what was behind the frames that they wanted to make us leave at 5 pm, what was there to let out? damp gauguin, mouldy monet. or nothing (my head hurts and this is irreversible).

- "they're thinking of building one, but - "
- "yeah."
- "it may not be possible, the ocean floor is really, really soft."

living in one place for an extended time requires a willingness to make things up, to invent meanings for familiar signs, to see an inferno under the calm lake (where ducks eat night moths and the sun dies, striated). to pretend windows on the opposite side of the water are less opaque, not so veiled and reflective. but there is no need to do that now.
we are young, smoke lucky strikes, underdressed - watch moths chase light underwater though it's no deeper than epidermis or colour. shower walls are cold, cold, so i arch my back against them and recoil - flickering from warmth to deep bloodless cold. showers are good places to shudder in. never clean entirely when travelling - always some unwashed hair or muddy shoes or cobwebs in my scarf. the thing is to forget what it was like not to be born and let the smog drag over you, walk under the traffic lights without flinching or going out, brave as a cloud with crossed eyes.