Written early August
They could have been my parents. The couple in sportive clothing that looks for a "biking map for Skåne". While she stands still he puts the cards that they just have bought in her backpack. For the map they'll have to go to Turistbyrån.
She could have been me. The girl that tries in her best Swedish to ask for some touristic information. Her mother asks her in German "did you really understand all that?!" (the girl says yes) and tells me proudly in English that her daughter is here for an Erasmus exchange. "Din svenska är mycket bra" I say.
They could have been my fellow Dutchies - the middle-aged men that grin when they see that our shop sells clerical collars and that there are even pictures on show that give an impression of how the shirts look like on a body. Even on a *female* body. Oh my.
Or wait, they are even my fellow Dutchies. "Moet je zien, dominees zijn modellen hier, haha." There they get their cameras out to take pictures of this bizarre phenomenon. I pretend not to notice.
They could not have been me. They speak Danish.
She could become one of the new parishioners: the American girl looking for an English bible. Which we have, but not the exact version that she's looking for.
She is super friendly like any American while I try to find something that suits her.
I'm the one behind the cash desk. I live in a town that is a holiday destination for many, on a five minute biking distance to Lund's biggest pride, the Cathedral. And when working in the bookshop, I suddenly remember.
She could have been me. The girl that tries in her best Swedish to ask for some touristic information. Her mother asks her in German "did you really understand all that?!" (the girl says yes) and tells me proudly in English that her daughter is here for an Erasmus exchange. "Din svenska är mycket bra" I say.
They could have been my fellow Dutchies - the middle-aged men that grin when they see that our shop sells clerical collars and that there are even pictures on show that give an impression of how the shirts look like on a body. Even on a *female* body. Oh my.
Or wait, they are even my fellow Dutchies. "Moet je zien, dominees zijn modellen hier, haha." There they get their cameras out to take pictures of this bizarre phenomenon. I pretend not to notice.
They could not have been me. They speak Danish.
She could become one of the new parishioners: the American girl looking for an English bible. Which we have, but not the exact version that she's looking for.
She is super friendly like any American while I try to find something that suits her.
I'm the one behind the cash desk. I live in a town that is a holiday destination for many, on a five minute biking distance to Lund's biggest pride, the Cathedral. And when working in the bookshop, I suddenly remember.
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