I turned my head to her. Her shoulder length blond hair had started turning grey. Her light-blue eyes focused on some point in the front. She must be pretty when she was young, some of the beauty still remained in her. A subtle elegance. She was driving, her face looked soft and relaxed.
When I entered “Kaffekoppen” (The coffee cup), a vintage cafe located in Stockholm’s Old Town, it was crowded. The waitress said if I did not mind going down stairs, there were plenty of seats available there. Of course I did not mind. Continue reading “Midnight wandering”
Strangely, or should I rather say coincidently, many of the previous posts were written in one or another cafe, cafes of different kinds. Vintage cafes with a nostalgic touch, stylish ones with prime focus on minimalism, cosy ones with homely atmosphere, exotic taverns on the seaside, where people spoke a language I have no knowledge of, Greek or Spanish.
I am sitting here in the corner, after almost one hour walk. It is an old wooden cafe in traditional Norwegian style, a favourite spot for skiing enthusiasts, a category I do not belong to. I am a running and walking enthusiast.
The sun was shining on my face when I opened the eyes, a marked contrast to the grey skies that had lasted for days. I was determined to go for a walk, such a glorious winter day should not be wasted. It was the Saturday morning a couple weeks ago.
The window of my bedroom faces that huge wooden house which is said to be on the National Register of Historic Places. It must have gone through both WW1 and WW2. What happened to the people living in the house during the wars? Who were they? Did they have a good life, for the most part? Any tragedies happened to these families?