I'm sitting in Copenhagen Airport this time.
Bored, so I wrote something. I don't have a spellchecker on this laptop, so apologies there.

As always, it's in the replies.

EDIT: Whilst in the queuse for passport checking (they check it when you're leaving here), I noticed a load of Japanese people who had just landed, almost all wearing masks. The entire queue dissolved in to coughs... the look on their (the japanese) faces was priceless. Never let it be said danes have no sense of humour.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Sun 17 May 2009, 14:54, 1 reply, 16 years ago)

The Typist
"The subject was incapacitated by seperate shotgun blasts to the knees, followed by a single shot to the head, the latter most likely from a revolver". I paused and took a drag on the cigarette. The rough smoke poured in to my lungs, raising protracted hacking cough. A slug of whisky from the cheap bottle in my desk drawer took care of my throat. The yellow light from the sodium lamps in the street outside cast a yellow glow over my typewriter, competing with the desk light to illuminate my working space. The strip lights overhead were dead, long since turned off as I was the only person working.

I looked back the report I was typing for the chief. Guy gets in a situation, nowhere to get help and gets himself killed. Seen it every day since I started in the department, will see it every day until I either retire or die. He started out not unlike myself, assuming the witnesses were telling the truth. Decent bloke, good job, never in trouble with the police. Fine upstanding citizen, as the papers will say tomorrow morning. He had himself a girl, pretty little thing. She was pretty upset when she saw him in the morgue yesterday at least.

He lived and worked in the city, she worked on a little horse farm out of town. Met at some awards ceremony. It was a ten hour drive for him to get to her, so they didn't see each other that much and didn't seem in that much of a rush to get married. Only hope she ain't got a bun in the oven. Myself, my little Mary didn't work at no horse farm. Lived back working in he pappa's shop where I grew up with my mom and pop, little town where the most exciting that happened was when a drunken lawyer from out of town sped through and knocked over a couple of flower pots.

Then something happens to shake a man up. He's in a bar, some exotic broad comes through. Can't quite place her. She's elegant, a stunner. Every man's eye in the place is drawnc to her. She sits with you, starts talking. Stunned that a dame that classy would come in to your bar, then actually sit with you, you talk back. Turns out she has the same sense of humour and you get on great. Weird you think, but happy that you didn't screw things up make too much of a fool out of yourself when she goes.

Back there the next day, you sit down, the faint hope that last night wasn't a dream, almost daring not to wish she's comes back. Sher does. Maria was the unlucky name for this poor guy. From the reports hy the other regulars in the bar they'd sit together most nights, just talking away. Nothing ever happening between them except talking. She'd sit and chatx with the others too. She was away from home and her man, on a holiday to the city while her other half was out of the country.

We never did catch up with this Maria. I never caught up with Jenny either. Jenny appeared to me one night while I was sitting outside having another cigarette, thinking about a different case I was following. Asking me if she could borrow a light, we soon fell to talking. I made her laugh, she made me sing. It felt as though I had a new part of me. I was still in love with my Mary - still am. But Jenny was just a lot of fun to be around, someone I could talk to in ways I never could with anyone else.

Of course, being around someone you get on with that well is bound to lead to some problems. Waiting for her to turn up in the bar when you promised you'd call your beloved that night. Staying up late and stumbling in to work the next day. Surruptious phone calls at work.While nothing ever happens between you both, you're both with other people you feel yourself getting closer to that person you get on so well with.

Your reletionship suffers. You lose track of your friends. Worst of all, you feel helpless. You're torn between two people, the one you love and always have evern though she may be miles away, and the one you are in lust with and will never get. Now, everyone knows what to say and what you are supposed to do in this situation. You're supposed to go with the long term girl. But it's not that simple. For the brief moments it is there, lust is a powerful emotion. It makes you look at your reletionship with your real partner, makes you find the faults in it. By the time you realise that you should have stayed with the one you love, it's too late. You've destroyed both reletionships, driven away both people you care for by your lust, driven away by the brief but powerful flame inside you.

It takes a strong man to keep his head together in as dark a time as that. It seems that me and the cadaver my report is on are not that strong. I turned to the bottle for a long time. Every night I'd go in to the shop, buy the same bottle of cheap paint stripper and lose myself in my despair over the peopel I'd lost. My man however took it much hard. Her turned to gambling, five card stud and roulette. He got himself so far in to debt from money borrowed off some powerful people there was only one place he was going to end up - on a pice of paper on my desk. Lessons learned hard and all that. He's had the hardest lesson of them all.

I reflected back on the night as the wind whistled past my ears. I'd finished up the report and laid it on the chiefs desk for the next moring. For once I hadn't drunk myself to sleep. I turned up for work in a clean suit, freshly shaven and lacking the blooshot eyes. The surprise in people's eyes as obvious. Chief called me in to his office and gave me a pat on the back for sorting out the missing man in record time - the perps had been pull in that morning and the case was going to court the next day. I was to give a press conference, a promotion tipped my way. I looked at the stars. Their reflections shimmered as a boat went past. As my head hit the water, I smiled and whispered "Jenny".
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Sun 17 May 2009, 14:55, Reply)