Story Hotel

Two nights at Story Hotel. Riddargatan. I like the hotel. Not just the name.

The angular bar that makes it easy to have a conversation. The scent and the music.

The more I try to like it, the more the situation grates on me. The commuting between the archipelago and the city.

I remember it being cool when I went here around 2010. The decade between twenty and thirty is said to be one's most memorable. But it is the nineties that are visible everywhere now.

The tens will be interesting to recreate, when the time comes. The hipster's obsession.

There is a new elevator and an old one. I block out a thought that I am a strange sight here. I choose the old one and press the button.

I find a tube of shaving cream in my bag. From the gym in Portugal. The one that had a view of beautiful but unfortunately flammable eucalyptus trees. Neither crowds nor strep throat existed over there.

I am giving myself a clean shave. It makes me look younger, but it does not change how old I am.

As a boy, shaving was exciting. Something that would happen in the future. I remember something from TV. A man with such heavy beard growth that he shaved twice a day. Once in the morning and then again in the afternoon. I do not remember who he was. Greek or Italian.

I share the memory with a friend, but it does not seem to exist in any common image bank.

Stureplan is a mecca for clean shaving. An art form.

I look down at my sneakers. On the sides there is mud from the countryside. It looks like dog shit. I book an appointment for a haircut.

The hotel receptionist and I talk about AI and features in Claude. When I pass by later, we both address each other as "Claude". A bit ridiculous.

Shaving is now appearing in my feeds. A man, who I assume has been struggling, says that for a period he only shaved in the shower. The moment in front of the mirror became far too charged. I think of Björn Ranelid, who has said that he cannot stand in front of the mirror, but who is always clean-shaven.

I take the boat. Cold and deserted.

I wake up once again on the island. Frost. Just before sunrise, the calls of two tawny owls and a blackbird overlap.

I book new nights at Story Hotel. As if there is an answer there.