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Ida#7 Footprints in cement

As I wake up from yet another little gathering in my apartment, I find myself curled up in between 3 others in my sort-of small bed, Ana, Alan, Paul. It is a nice mix too - mexican and english and french and swedish bodies are recovering from too many beers under too many blankets. Those minutes between sleeping, and getting yourself together - the minutes when you are still not hangovered and still not awake but only lying down breathing slowly between warm sleeping persons, those minutes are fucking perfect. Yeah and then you wake up and want to die.

Things left to do – clean up the beer from the floor, go shopping for some candles or something to get rid of the weird smell of humidity in the apartment, get rid of all the empty bottles and cans. Change lightbulbs and drink tea. Sleep. Time is running out, samma nätter väntar alla.

Shit alltså, saknaden efter likasinnade är inte nådig, men ibland så funkar det ändå ganska bra här. Men inget hade slagit att vara med er ni vet vilka ni är en nyårsnatt i Stockholm just nu. Tänk på mig. Jag älskar er.

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