Before Snake

Wedding in Skåne.

I say I'm not keen on driving down on Friday and back up on Sunday, if it's only me driving.

Hear that some of those coming along are disappointed.

There's time to change my mind, but it's too late.

Train and train changes instead. Getting between places also gets harder. Skälderviken is beautiful, but hard to reach without a car.

My fault.

Friday. Everything goes fine. We get down. Other guests have cars. Taxis exist.

Two long nights in a lit house facing a stormy sea. Outside, ties fly and cigarettes go out.

Sunday. Bus and train home. Slow stretches. But everything goes fine. Only the phone charger has to sweat.

Some of those who drive can't manage the whole way. They stay over in Linköping.

A small win for me.

Head out to the country. Two hours and forty-five minutes on the boat. More relaxation than transport.

I've made the trip countless times. Can't get bored. Islands, mountains and forest. Summer cottages that make me jealous. Fresher air than in town. Seats outside and inside. Toilets with wood paneling and windows onto the water, like in the old days. A power outlet at every seat.

Vaxholm, where all the tourists get off, goes by too fast. I want to sit a lot longer.

Get off the boat an hour later.

Stay on in the country. Sit with the computer indoors. Outdoors with the computer when the rain dries up. Shirt and two sweaters. Like some older retired men. They always have a blue shirt collar sticking up. Work shirts don't retire, they stay in the wardrobe.

Go into town for a meeting and to vote early. Lilla Espressobar. Reggev Hummus. Shurgard.

On the way to Strömkajen and the boat out to the island, the phone battery has died. The computer too.

Thirty minutes into the boat ride I've been to the café twice. A sandwich, then a soggy wrap and a non-alcoholic beer. Sit outside and inside. Meditate for half a minute before I forget. Study the turn-of-the-century villas and look for something on land I've never seen.

It aches. We haven't even passed Lidingö. Two and a half hours left.

I remember how it was. Before Snake. Before Game Boy. How much the waiting hurt. The hunt for ways to dodge it.

I've never, as an adult, played a mobile game on my phone. But there's obviously a lot else I'm not too good for.

The kids in the seats a bit away are in the same situation. They're working on a minute-by-minute schedule.

I can't stand on my seat until an adult tells me to. I go outside.

Up there, outdoors, a man in a lilac scarf sits smoking a cigarillo where he shouldn't. He's watching athletics on his phone.

It's dark when I step ashore at eight. Like after a long-haul flight.

Quick steps through the grass. Unlock. Phone and computer into the charger. Wait for the rasping sound from the phone.

I remember for the first time in a long while how boring it could be out here.