Cycles

Men only buy new underwear when they can hold the old ones in their hand and blow them out the window. Something Jerry Seinfeld said.

Right now the underwear index is rising. This means men are starting to buy new underwear. Uber drivers are talking about stocks. Advertising is becoming more sexist.

Signs of the peak of an economic boom.

But where is it? The economic boom.

Trying on shoes. There are no half sizes. Walking out of the store with a pair of Clarks in size 45.

They turn out to be too big.

I learn a new word: heel grips. Stick them into the shoes. Still too big.

Going back to the shop at Fältöversten where I bought the heel grips.

Can't find the shop. Walk a lap. Stop and think. Walk towards where I remember it being. Impossible for the shop to have moved when I was there just a few days ago.

Third lap. The advertising posters on the other side. The influencer in a bikini. A thought that I had been distracted.

Turn my head. The shop is right opposite.

Three laps.

Moving out into town. Meetings. One person at a time. Clear that I prefer it that way. I get tired in groups.

The Djurgården ferry is full of people. Warm in the sun. Ice cold in the shade. It was like that last winter too when I stood on the balcony in Portugal grilling.

Djurgårdsbrunn has been renovated. A large café inside and out, with fireplaces burning. Looking up who did it. The same couple who renovated Fabrique. The chain I have reluctantly started to like. Real materials, real ingredients, and sunny locations.

It's best out on Djurgården, by Beckholmen. The café has probably given me more pleasure than all of Kungsholmen and Vasastan combined.

Tössebageriet is also good. Now that I'm living in Gärdet for a month. I'm meeting three different people there in one single day. My go-to café after Poli on Kungsholmen.

Drinking way too much coffee. Had dry rashes for a long time. Buying a rich cream that I should have used sooner.

Longing for the firm bed I borrowed in Portugal. Slept like a monk. A sand-colored and turquoise painting at the foot of the bed and a wool rug to put my feet on. A hundred meters away was a fruit shop that sold the tastiest little papayas I've ever eaten.

Cycles. The day. The week. The year. The underwear.