The bar was closed. I could’ve swore they opened at noon. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

I had a beer at another place instead. The beer wasn’t very good; they didn’t have the kind I liked, and the seats were uncomfortable. It’s the leave after you’re done eating kind of place, even though it’s never busy.

The children cry in the background and clueless adults stumble over their words and they have no idea what they are going to order… The confusion at the register is painful to watch. But I don’t blame them, Swedes don’t usually eat out, we forget how to act in public, sometimes. We do know how to work, though.

Not I.

The waiter dropped a tray of cups at my feet and the shards scattered everywhere like cluster munition, shredding my pants and shoes. Blood splattered in a half circle around me. They apologise but I didn’t care. I’m not going anywhere and the bleeding stopped eventually.

There’s still beer left in the glass and it take a while still to write a story.