In the solitude of cotton fields

A few minutes have passed since I turned off the engine. Large rain drops keep popping against the roof of the convertible. The car stereo is playing Britta with “You are not my boyfriend”.

I recall going to a concert with Britta Persson in September last year. I also recall a long winter night, sitting in an almost empty apartment in Växjö together with my dear friend Ally, listening to Britta's album "Top Quality Bones and a Little Terrorist", over and over again. And now here, out in the convertible as the last daylight wanes. In the solitude of cotton fields.

(and if you read this Ally, I hope you will have a good time in France)