Another period of my life is gone. Its ashes are now scattered in the streets of Berlin; on the rooftops of Halle; along the banks of the Elbe.
What’s left of Copenhagen? Some cardboard boxes in the attic. A black fixie bike. Alleys, streets and windows. Sea, sun and breaking waves. Two kites, ready for their next flight. A mind ripe for exploration. Some great friends to return to. And lots of cigarettes, squeezed against a grey patch of concrete.