Arriving at a dull inland town called Hamar in Norway,
the hotel didn’t serve food, but there was a stall down
the road which sold hot-dogs.
October, already bitterly cold, streets were swept of
life but they were clean, ready to receive snow and
frosty wind blowing from the lake of Hades nearby.
While eating, squeezed by a coldness I didn’t know
existed, thought hell is not hot; it is Hamar, but there
must be a bar somewhere to lift my spirit.
There was, a bar that played jazz music loudly to cover
for lack of skills, but I didn’t mind, I was here for a drink
or five and I’m not a musical critic.
Dawn, got up shaved and used mouth rinse as I was
driving up to a clinic and train to be a counselor helping
people who had alcohol problems.
Got the job, looked out of the window…snow. No this
was not a job for me, helping rich people getting sober.
