Latest ten days of posting

Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.

Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2002-02-28

-- Did you see?
-- See what?
-- The senior, she took a handful of napkins and then put them into her bag over there.
-- No, I missed that. A handful?
-- Yes.
-- What the hell is she going to do with a handful of napkins?
-- I don’t know. Senior stuff probably.
-- Senior stuff? No, on second thought I don’t want to know.
-- Oh, she’s not going to use them. They’re far too expensive for that. She’ll probably keep them in a drawer somewhere. Maybe even in a box stacked away in the attic.
-- Right. If she wants to use something like that, she’ll only have to go out and have another coffee or something.
-- I’m not sure seniors are allowed to drink coffee.
-- Sure they can, just not black. But then again, if it isn’t black it isn’t a coffee.
-- Coffee-coloured milk then.
-- Right. Milk in the coffee together with a voodoo mixture of Viagra, Amphetamines and Opium.
-- My God! No wonder they’re as crazy as they are.

After the coffee I went roaming around in my lonesome, drifting from place to place, back alley to back alley. Not that Växjö has many back alleys worth the name but those that do exist looks pretty nice. So it’s just more of a bunch of alleys. Topic drifting here. Lets get back to the point. So I went to the used bookshop and turned on a few books here and there.

I found among other things a hardcover edition of a P.G. Wodehouse. I looked at the spine. I blinked and then looked at it again. Who in their right minds would sell something like that? I seriously considered to search up the previous owner and give it back. But then I thought about it some more and decided to keep it for myself instead.

Down the stairs came two goons. Long coats and junk in their hair to keep it in place. It still looked ridiculous. They looked at the politics-shelve and I decided that this was my que to ascend upstairs. Later, I’m still in the used bookshop, they popped up through the hallway and walk forwards to the counter. They had found some book and I thought nothing of it. I mean, it didn’t sound as something I would like to read anyway, and who am I to criticise them?

Then it comes. The needle, the bullet that makes me shiver as if someone had aimed and fired right at me. They asked the store manager for another book, this one by none other than Ayn Rand. I was horrified. They had the look of someone who really believes in her teachings. Now, I’ve meet nice people who have believed in Ms. Rand before, but they don’t seem to have bought the whole thing like these. They where not old enough to read Ayn Rand, they should have an age limit so that the reader won’t be dragged into the whole Objectivist-cult. The used bookshop didn’t have the book though, thank God for that. The last thing we need is some naive economics students turned into fullblooded Rand-freaks running around at the big U.

(This has been entry number 200 here at the Lost Pages.)