"How was Werchter this year?" he asked while sipping on his strange look orange berry, perhaps, rowan berry gin tonic, with his half-smile. The wandering eyes of his, complemented his wet rain jacket. The reflection of the chandelier on his eyes warmed up the light drizzle as we were sitting on the corner of Drottningtorget.
He looks bulkier than the last time I saw him. Golfer arms, I joked. Or maybe it was his weighted blanket that he lifts every morning.
"Are you going to play some music?" I asked.
Don't Let Me Down by The Beatles.
The song didn't just stop at his place, apparently. It followed me while I was walking back to my hotel room.
Even now, at Malmö Stadsbibliotek.
Not sure if I'm gonna miss him, nor if I am allowed to still.
Back to being strangers, I guess?
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