The entrance to le Musée Boucher de Perthes had one notable difference to all others, though some could not tell what this was, even after all these years.
Here we are in Stockholm, Sweden marveling at it all. Perched atop the town hall, overlooking the Western Bridge, I watched and waited for you. (They really ought to repair their roofing, a few roof tiles fell into the water as I sat there and the hole they left was impressive.)
You never came, but in your place, a moose, an elk on a ramshackle bicycle, a wolverine and a pair of lynx from Gästrikland. They spoke to me of the weather, their plans, their likes and their loves. I welcomed their company until they pulled from their wallets several photos of their young.
Shall look for you in the Fisherman’s Bar.
Broken roof tiles and kisses,