There's a man I meet every morning when I go over the Bridge. I don't know what he is, what he does on the days or what he is listening to in their lurking. We nod, not even to each other. But we have met every morning to and from in over two years.
He is grey-haired, rectangular glasses, and a slightly stiff gait with straight step. His advanced plupphörlurar (as he had in two years) is indicative of a interest in technology.
can I determine how much of a hurry I have. It is in the height with the Deals I must hurry, it is close Västerbroplan I can turn on the pace.
I meet him in different match your moods. Often that sleepy John, who happily had hit the entourage in the direction back towards where I live. Other days with hiphopuppburet self-confidence, listening to gangster rap. And I think I can see similar shifts with him. In spite of its austere facial expression moves in a different pace across the bridge.
the Man and I share this inconspicuous, more than human moment almost every day. We experience the seasons. We age together, but do not know a damn about each other. Who is he? He has family, passions? Opinions on januariavtalet?
if I exist for him, or if it is only I who have inclinations like the passat for a Stasianställning.
I have many questions, but don't really know if I want to have the answers to them. In the end I like my version, my half-finished picture of the man on the Bridge. It gives an – albeit weak – the air of escapism to my otherwise mundane morning walks.
John Falkirk is a reporter at the DN Sthlm and has either too little or too much to think about. Read also his columns about the agony of getting a Hövdinghjälm for christmas and södermalmsbor who is concerned about the gentrification that they themselves are a part of.