The air was below freezing point as I walked down Nørrebrogade, turned, turned again, looked up into the white fog coming out of my mouth, looked at windows, looked at people, shuttered a little from the cold, stopped to stare at the lake, went on, thought big and small thoughts and had my hands in my pockets. I rarely do it, but sometimes it's perfect walking in the night.
Came by this window belonging to a vintage shop. Cluttered?
Schleppegrellsgade was neat with the lights in the trees. Dare I say it? Did I send a little thought to Berlin?
I had forgotten the magic of standing at the Nørrebro side of the lakes. Where the noise of the cars on the other side is weirdly distant. Where it's merely a soundcurtain while the lights blink down on the water.