Train // DenNor

The Sweet Waitress

I look over the city. I sit in the hotel room. We're almost in the middle of the city, so lights can be seen overall. People are talking down in the streets, some laughing and some even crying.
Copenhagen is this, huh? Neat.
Not too comfortable like Oslo is, but it surely is a city.

"Hey, wanna go down a bit?", Mathias asks. He's finished packing out his stuff.
He catches my eyes from the window, but only for a short bit. My eyes return to the city again.
"Come on.. I wanna see my home city again!", Mathias exclaims and grabs my arm. I try to take it back, but he's holding it too tightly.

We walk down. I can't help but look at all the people. They look like stereotypical hipsters. They have a too small torso, but very long legs and arms. Why can't there just be some Norwegian tourists?
I wanna comment on it, but I don't bother. He wouldn't understand the question anyways. He's a bit too stupid to discuss those things with.

We eventually settle down in a small resturant. My stoumach is screaming for food, I frankly don't care what I get.
"What would you like?", the waitress asks. She smiles sweetly. I know it's a fake smile. A required smile. I have experience with it, I was a waiter in my younger days.
"I'd love some salmon, if that could be arranged!", Mathias orders and laughs.
The waitress laughs aswell, "Alright then!"
Was it really a fake smile then?
"Any drinks?", she asks Mathias. He thinks a bit.
"Hmm, a small beer, thank you," he responds.
"Alright. Anything for you, sir?", she asks me. Her eyes turn to me. We make eye contact. I'm not prepared.
"Salmon and small beer," I quickly respond. I should've looked more closely.
She nods and goes away.
"So you like salmon aswell?", Mathias asks. His eyes light up as small suns again.
"Yes. I like most fish," I respond. It isn't completely false.

"How's Emil?", he asks me. I catch his eyes. He smiles sweetly.
How's Emil?
"Good," I choose to answer. I nib to my beer the waitress just came with.
"How's Tommy and Buster?", I ask him. They're like his smaller brothers. Just dogs.
"They're good! Currently in Sweden being kept by my good friend Berwald!", he responds.
I know a guy named Berwald. He wasn't at the party though.
"Why wasn't he at your party?", I ask.
He looks away.
I forgot...
The accident we shouldn't talk about. A hidden rule between us two that no one has established.
He looks up to me, he's gained confidence I assume.
"He couldn't come. He was in Finland visiting some guy named Tino. Unlucky, right?", he responds and looks sad.
Maybe it is the Berwald I know, but I don't wanna bring it up, so I just carefully shut my mouth.

Our food finally comes.
"Here you go!", the waitress says. She looks over at Mathias, like he's gonna say something funny again.
"Say to this cook that he deserves a spot in MasterChef, because this looks amazing!", he says and laughs. She laughs too.
I look down at my plate. It just looks like normal salmon to me.
We begin eating. This does taste good, but still doesn't deserve the praise he gives...

We go up to pay.
"Let me," Mathias says, but I push him aside. I can pay for my food myself.
"Hey!", the waitress goes up to me after I've begin going over to the door.
Mathias and I stop.
"Du er heldig! Hold fast på ham!", she says and smiles.
I understand absolutely nothing. I look over at Mathias. He laughs.
"Vi dog ikke et forhold, men tak!", he responds, I think.
He looks at me directly after he said that and begins to smile. The biggest smile I've seen yet.

We're sitting with the water. There are many people around. Most people are drinking, but most of the kids go around with a big ice cream instead. Luckily.
"Wanna get some ice cream?", Mathias asks me.
I feel after. Do I want ice cream? I decide on yes. I nod.

We are back in our hotel room. We're, of course, in different beds. Don't know why I want to point that out. The ice cream tasted good, but I still think the ice creams back home are better. I'm most likely biased.
Mathias drops down on his bed. He sighs.
"I'm soooo tired...", he mumbles. I look over at him, only to see his pajamas. A light blue buttoned up shirt with a small banana dancing in the middle.
"Then go to sleep," I say and go down in my own bed. I face away from him, though I can still hear his laugh.

What will he possibly do tomorrow?

Translations:
"Du er heldig! Hold fast på ham!"
"You are lucky! Keep tight on him!"

"Vi dog ikke et forhold, men tak!"
"We're not a couple, but thanks!"