Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Roper 15 - The Beach II

After L . made absolutely sure that really everyone passing us would get a nice/long look at our faces, I grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him brutally up from the bench...

...well at least that was the plan. You don`t just "yank" 110 kg.

He looked at me, worried.

"You ok??"

I sat down again, head between my knees.

The night before came creeping up on me: There was a lot of running involved....

"We need to get away...like FAR away man!" I said.

"Yeah, I know. But where? No one wants to take us in!"

That was true, the few people we still knew in Copenhagen were more than reluctant to take us in for the night. Damn those news feeds!

L. carefully brushed the crumbs of his breakfast of his lap, packed the unopened cheese packs into his nerd/photographers vest and rose.

"Come, lets see if the bikes are still there!"

"Bikes?"

"Yeah, come."

I followed him, watching how he barely lifted his feet as he clumsy but unrelenting climbed the steep path to what turned out to be a small parking lot.

The sight of the two Copenhagen Bikes triggered the firing of the neurons containing the memories of last night: It was the only way to get out of Copenhagen fast and undetected since so many people, waiting at train stations and bus stops, wanted to talk to us.

It was my idea: I was a bicycle courier in Copenhagen once, before I joined L. in his Funen exile in hope of jobs, and knew every little shortcut and back road out of the city.

I maybe shouldn't but I felt reassured by this: Just a tiny bit of control turned back to my life.

"So where do we go?" L. asked.

"I think the bridge to Sweden is out of question.."

He nodded.

"So is the Great Belt Bridge, but we can go South and take the ferry boat from there. I think chances to get home are bigger from there!"

An obscure ferry crossing the Great Belt was not on my mental map.

"Spodsbjerg to Taars.... you-know-whos parents have a summerhouse there..."

THAT sounded interesting for a change: "Your X`s parents summerhouse you say, VERY interesting old chap. Pray, you wouldn't know if said parents OR your X should be anyway NEAR that summerhouse as we speak?"

He looked down on his feet, busy shuffling.

"Ehm, according to her Facebook they are somewhere in France. On vacation."

"Where they took their poor daughter to recover from the traumata of fucking up your life. Got it. Lets go!"

The sound of tyres against the well kept bicycle path, the air, the feeling of the Danish summer sun on my neck: We had just the tiniest fragment of a plan, and that was enough for me.
 




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