top of page
  • Jimmy Broccoli


”Varför måste jag alltid känna för att dö”?*, he asks me and I do not immediately know how to answer ...


I look at him empathetically –

and in a calm and masculine (man to man) manner -

we’re at the city park by the park lake –

sitting on a decaying wooden bench – the original paint failing -

the ducks and the geese are approaching – hoping we have cracked corn to share

”Although, I understand you – I will need you to speak in English –

are you able to do that?”, I ask


”Ja”, he answers



The ducks and the geese quickly leave –

they waddle towards other guests nearby –

or swim away (across the lake) to visit those on the other bank -

he unbuttons his coat because the afternoon is becoming warmer –

”it is bad”, he tells me – ”it is very bad” –

”tell me about the bad”, I instruct him –

as I lean back against the stiff and unbending backside of the wooden bench

he tells me he wants to die – he wants to die very badly ...

”tell me more about the bad”, I repeat –


and he tells me more about the bad


I listen without interrupting –

a slight nod of my head now and then to let him know I’m listening

... and, I am listening


Jag är bara 34 år gammal”**, he then says –
”er – I only have 34 birthdays”, he continues
”and I do not wish another...”
I light a cigarette from my nearly depleated pack of cigarettes –
And then exhale the smoke –
the smoke escapes with a hint of butane –

I am a black angel – a real black angel –

He looks towards the ground as he waits for my reply ...

My darkened wings unfurl  -

my elongated feathers magnificent and grand –


I jot down an address on a torn and small piece of paper –

and I hand it to him


”Möt mig här”***, I instruct him – 
and he tells me he will meet me there
So he will not be alone -
The ducks and the geese will come nowhere near me –
My darkened wings flap violently and suddenly –
and abrasively and without restraint -
He re-buttons his jacket and walks away from me –
The ducks and the geese are now sounding loudly –
even from as far as across the lake
because they suddenly recognize what I am



The young Swedish man stands up from the park bench –

after re-buttoning his jacket –

this afternoon’s warmth now beginning to fail as the evening begins to conquer the daylight


There was no one sitting beside him

He sat alone


He sat alone

He sat alone

He sat alone

He sat alone


- yet the ducks and the geese are sounding loudly –

because they know what I am



The small hotel lobby smells like former flooding or of pipes leaking or bursting –

ruined cloth, fabric, flooring, and walls (and behind the walls) –

dilapidated paintings hang - dripping with colors less vibrant than before –

a mildew and an odor that cannot be cleaned –

that cannot be unsmelled  –

the bellhop welcomes the young man and then fetches his bags


”Welcome”, says the bellhop to the young man –

”we have removed the mirrors on the ceiling –

and the pink champagne is on ice”,

the bellhop says


The young man gathers his room key from the front desk clerk and, alone –

enters the elevator to the floor where his room waits for him

The young man unbuttons his jacket because the temperature within the hotel is pleasing to him –

as if he, himself, adjusted the thermostat



The young man enters his hotel room –

knowing his hours are slumberless –

knowing the shadows are numberless –

knowing the little white flowers will never awaken him –

as he ponders the gloomy lights of the room –


they are comforting, predictable, and preferred –



The faucet in the bathroom of the hotel room drips –

drip, drip, drip goes the water –

drip, drip, drip goes the water –

But the young man does not mind the sound –

It’s rhythmic – and it comforts him –

The water drips upon the bottom of the porcelain sink –

and the young man is comforted by it’s predictable sound –

the water drips and it drips and it drips –

and the young man is comforted by it’s predictable sound

because he has control of it –

and chooses for it to drip



I knock on the young man’s hotel room door –

then immediately after realize the door is slightly ajar –

he is waiting for me ...


I step inside and hear the drip, drip, drip of the water


By the moonlight shining through the hotel window with the curtains open

the razor blade glistens – it gleams – it shines –

like a brand new Cadillac freshly painted –

gun-metal silver – and fresh from the manufacturer –

I am standing near and I look at the razor blade as the young man holds it with authority,

yet with a slightly trembling hand –

hesitation, hesitation, hesitation – and then none -

the bellhop enters the room to withdraw the young man’s baggage

and then he put them down elsewhere –

and they evaporate ...


I sit upon his hotel bed –

my wings unfurled – magnificent and grand –

I sit upon his hotel bed –


and then I disappear –

after the young man breathes and then no longer breathes


Drip, drip, drip – drip, drip, drip –


... goes the water





* - ”Why do I always have to feel like dying”?

** - ”I am only 34 years old”

*** - ”Meet me here”

Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.

6 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page