Duck Tape and Roll-Ons

A book of JP Sartre. Rain and a tea cup. His mind was falling apart. No connection with the outside world. A lung failure. Breathing reduced to zero. When he came back, everything was white. No horizon and no definition of space. Maybe I´m dead.
He tied a knot and kept going his way, until a flower made him stop. How is it possible for a plant to grow here ? This is my imagination. But when he bounced into a table with plates and spoons, and a meal, K. started eating. Looked like a caveman.
He had a pair of jeans and a black tshirt. Blue tennis, and duck tape.



A train station. Sun. A train passing by with people. Nomads. He too had no roots in that land. A no mans land. He pulled out a cigarrette and smoked him. Some pleasure before jumping to the adventure of a lifetime. He grabs his bagpack and left.



And he felt the wind on the top of that fjörd
And his face was happy again