Slussen

At the edge of the Old Town, a pier in the water, and it's my first minute to myself since I arrived. The sudden silence surprises me; I sit in the afternoon sun and let it sink in. This is my city now, my home away from whatever home I supposedly have. An Australian girl sleeps in my bed on Morton Street; it is not mine.

This is all I have.

How familiar it is, and yet how foreign. I try to wrap my head around what has happened, and cannot. I fall short of words. Those New York streets, gone. Familiar faces, familiar airs, gone. I slept with the window open last night and was grateful for the trafficked streets; the sounds soothed me. A new life in the making: mine.

I stub my cigarette in the wooden boardwalk planks, gather my things, go to meet an old friend for a drink in the sunlight.

A new friend now. I can but roll with the punches.