Tom had a little bit headache. He had headache all day, but now it was fading out, finally. Great. Hardly anything feels better than a headache going away. Tom decided to go for an evening walk, to get some fresh air. He walked down to the town center, towards the fjord.
He passed over the old town bridge, which is for pedestrians only now. In the past it was open for cars. He remembered the truck that got stuck in the portal over the bridge. This was long time ago. Many things are long time ago. The past is longer than the future, at least for Tom Snare. That's good. He's happy about this. Most things are done. There's not much left that he has to do; only a couple of things. This time he will make it, even though he has failed many times before.His failures were more frequent than his successes, but now was the time for change.
Down in the canal there were lots of boats. Old wooden boats, gathered for some kind of cultural event. Many small boats, a few big boats. In the boats sat groups of friends, talking, laughing and drinking beer. Tom was alone. Tom doesn't have many friends. Not here, not anywhere else. He only has a couple of good friends. That's OK. Tom manage on his own. He enjoys his own company, part of them time.
Tom walked along the quay, watching the old wooden boats, and watching the women. He enjoyed the view of the the hubby ones, with big butts and thick thighs, but not the thin and skinny. Thin women are like thin coffee; taste no good.
The boats were floating on the canal, the canal ended in the fjord, and the fjord ended in the open ocean. The way to the world, the way to freedom. Lucky are those who have such boats. They can go far.
Tom had seen enough. There was nothing of interest left to excite him, nothing to make him hard. It would be left for a later occasion. On the way back home, he stopped by a pub and bought a beer. He found a free table outside on the street, between groups of friends talking about uninteresting things; bachelor parties, halibut fishing and hip.hop music.
Tom thinks of Anna, who is drugged on paint. He has to laugh. Someone picked up a guitar, and started to play. It was late. Tom emptied his beer. Then he walked back home. Good night Tom Snare. Sweet dreams.
(Boats along the canal, needless to say)
