Tonight, for however few short hours that he choses to actually sleep, is the last night that Novi and I are neighbours. Wall to wall, in fact. Door to door. Literally.
It lasted, by my calculations, close to two years. And that’s with Novi’s two apartment-switches included.
It’s been a hell of a time, really. More room-mates than neighbours. And to think that, when I moved in, we dreaded ever tiring of each other. (Just between me and you, Internet, I’m pretty sure he’s leaving just early enough for me not to drive him completely bonkers, but don’t tell him I told you)
Food has been shared, bread baked, curtains hung, unwieldy televisions moved up and down stairs, even more unwieldy bedframes forced through too small doors… An adventure.
When I stumbled home tonight, I was greeted with a feast. The entire content of Novi’s fridge, freezer and pantry. He’s leaving in the morning and thusly gifted away his last morsels to me. I didn’t want it all, of course. (Tabasco? What do you take me for, Mr. Flink!?) But what little I took are now stacked as keepsakes from a long gone era in my own pantry. Little post-cards of bread-baking past, fond foodstuffs from happier days. Before Visby came along and ruined it all.
You will rue the day, Visby! Mark my words! Start ruing!
In what can only be described as half sentimental, manly ritual and half sarcastic farce, we braved the perilous winds of Scania one last time. We smoked cigars (yes, plural) in the parking lot.
From this day forth, we will forever decry Novi’s awsome packing skills. The same skills which betrayed our dubious moment by denying us a camera.
There are no pictures of this, our last night together. Only this encomium; to friendship, to good neighbours, horrible taste in music, too much wowing and way too few good cigars.
Mr. Flink, I salute you.