Heavy raindrops on pools of water. A grey dead-end street.
“What are you thinking?”
She sits there with her usual cup of tea.
“Nothing,” I say.
I look towards the other corner of the café, but she catches my gaze. Holds it. She opens her mouth. Once, twice, but nothing comes out.
“What do you want?” she finally says. “What do you need?”
I stare out of the window. The pools are all disturbed and broken now.
“A raincoat,” I say.
Carl-Henrik Björck is a 24-year-old Swedish writer and psychology student. He normally lives in Umea, in northern Sweden, but right now he is doing his psychology internship in New York City. He writes short stories, poetry and fiction. His ambition is to finish his first novel before the end of 2010.
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