Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Roper 10 - The Beach

"Do you think he is dead?"

"Get away from the alcohol sick person honey."

"But mum, I think he is dead! He smells bad!"

"It is not polite to say things like that honey."

I opened my eyes and starred right into the scrutinizing face of a little girl in bathing suit and sun hat. I focused and the stick she was about to poke my face with came into vision. She followed my gaze, looked at me, looked back at the stick and then poked my forehead.

"Are you dead or just drunk?"


"I honestly do not know."

"Hm, why do you sleep under a boat?"

Two well manicured hands came into vision and pulled the little girl up and out of vision. I could swear that the stick made some poking motions as she went up.

"Now, what did I tell you about being unpolite to the poor, homeless people?"

The little girl looked at me over her mums tanned shoulder with a distatisfied expression. When she saw me, her face lit up and she made some more poking motions with the stick.

Her mums got a great ass on her. Nice.

"I see you made friends with the locals, better get up from there before someone calls the coppers!"

L. hiking shoes talked to me from the other side of the upturned boat and I crawled towards them.

An unreal beautiful  Danish summer sun graced the flawless beach of North Zealand with warmth and gave the water a  deep blue colour.

L. stood with a brown paper bag and two tetra packs with cacao. A mouth watering smell of buns and cynamon rolls emitted from the bag.

"Got breakfast! Come, there is a bench up there!"

He pointed to a path leading from the beach up to the Beech Forest. God, could it be more of a Danish stereotype?

The air smelled of sea side and the birds chirped in the trees. I sunk my teeth into the best buns I had for years and took a sip of my cacao. Some upper class girls with long sunburned legs and boobs to kill for went by and waved hello to us. Could life be more perfect?

"You probably wanna read this!" L. said and shoved an opened Ekstra Bladet in my face.

NEW NORDIC ROCKER WAR - Unknown Organisation At War With Scandinavias Largest Rocker Group.

My cinnamon roll turned to ash in my mouth.

I grabbed the newspaper and unwelcome pictures flashed from last night returned to memory.

Pictures! Oh my god! Pictures! Pictures of us taken from a CCTV camera at Copenhagens Main Train Station. This one showed how we ran away from a large group of Rockers and out on the street.

They had been waiting for us there, so many....and also at the other train stations where the trains going to Sweden or over the Great Belt took off.

Fucking Bikers EVERYWHERE.

Another picture showed our faces. Oh god, shit, fuck, shitfuck. Our faces! I took a deep breath and then looked again: Our faces actually only were black and white blurs. You`d had to know us very well to recognize us.

I looked at L. who opened a tiny package with cheese and carefully put it on a bun.

"Where the fuck are we?"

He looked at me, munching, and then lit up.

Took the paper bag from the bakery and read the bakeries logo.

"We`re in Gilleleje."

"Gilleleje? As in expensive-ass-summer-houses-Gilleleje??"

"Yes. It IS nice here no?"

"Shit! That's like far away from everything!!"

"Yeah, that was a long night!"

The little girl from before and her mum came up from the beach.

"Now, be nice to the underprivileged Clara!"

"Goodbye homeless persons! I hope you don't get Hepatitis!"

L. spewed crumbs as he smiled and waved.

"Thank you little girl! Have a nice summer!"

"Clara! What DID I tell you..."

"But you SAID they could have Hepatitis and...!"

"Quiet now honey!" the mum flashed an apologetic movie star smile "I am so sorry!"

"No problem at all!"

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