Midsummer, lousy weather. Me partying with some friends in a park, gauzy
white shirts transparent from the intermittent
rain. Weather gets worse, really dark clouds gather. Distant
thunderclaps can be heard over the ghettoblaster and laughter. My friends don't seem as affected by the rain as I. Suddenly, the storm is right on top of us, and we decide to take the party somewhere indoorsy. It seems like we are in an enormous dream-version of Humlegården,
Stockholm, because we decide to head for a canopied café at Stureplan, whis is located a hundred real meters from where we are having the picnic. In the dream, the distance is much greater and on every side of us the view of the city is obscured by small, grassy hills. We begin walking, and suddenly my
phone rings. An
ex (or something) from way back. We exchange formal greetings.
After that, all conversation is impossible. We both stand silent in different parts of the country, saying nothing. The tone of her voice during the initial greeting spiel comes back to me - she sounded more that a little
I lack a word.
...bereaved? Does she want me to say something trivial, to make her laugh? I can't.
Unable to hang up, I quickly lag behind the others and soon find myself all alone in a great green-gray field in an enormous park in a very big city, with someone I care a lot (A little? Enough?) about on the phone.
Wake up with a severe cold.