Malmö underground

So it's been a week and a half and I have spent some time in a heroin den, hostel and now a hotel. My apartment fell through pretty spectacularly and I am in the process of securing a new place to sleep.

When I arrived I met up with Johan at his home. Right away I realized it would be a rough start. He met me outside his apartment holding in one hand this drinkable yogurt (which is quite popular) and wearing a white mustache like a reject from the "got milk" ads. Right away I realized he was loaded. Loaded in a way a homeless man on the corner makes you vomit on the inside. After attempting to help me with my bags and falling over, I decided that I could carry them both. I carried them from Colorado after all. I don't think he could have made it 2 flights of stairs anyway. Here is what he looks like sans junk.

Upon entering Chateau de Tullgren I was immediately set upon by Mollie (pronounced Moily), his small blattered poodle-pitbull mix. We developed a fast hatred of each other. I desired to be left alone and she insisted on pissing on everything imaginable (including the bed I was set to sleep on the first night). After the initial shock of realizing that Johan was a dog-guy I began to smell the stagnant oder of 10,000 smoked cigarettes. Perhaps that was the cause of the wall color beginning to look something like a light egg yolk. Regardless I was there, for a time anyway.

After a few days of attempting to adjust to the residue caking the shower I realized that I should actively start looking for apartments. I had a few leads that didn't really pan out so I went to visit Joel (pronounced Yoel) in Helsingborg. I've met very few people in my life that instantly impress me.

Joel is one of them. He is one of the most honest, capable, intelligent and sophisticated gentleman I have ever met. And he makes ridiculously strong coffee (now you're a man, a man-y man-y man...). Joel made me feel quite a bit better about my circumstances. So after a day of Swedish hiking, cake and coffee breaks and a nice meal I caught the train south again.

I arrived in Malmö to find Johan face down in a pile of chopped up oxy dust that he had been packing up his nose the entire weekend. I also found my room devastated. The door kicked in, my sleeping bag thrown about, and piles of clothes everywhere. Initially I thought I had been completely robbed of anything of value, but everything seemed to be accounted for. It appeared, in what ever junked-out state of logical reason, Johan had simply wanted a fresh pair of socks. That was my excuse to give the proverbial "fuck it" and pack my shit and get the hell out of there. On night in a hostel and now a few in a hotel and its my birthday. Way to go 26!