On the surface that generics perceived, Copenhagen had surprisingly few cabinets, but sometimes cabinets had the habit of blindsiding you with cosmological paws, and that’s what happened in a bookshop off Prinsessegade where Sila was reading a 60’s French comic that seemed ostensibly to be about a sex demon sailing on a cruise of the damned, but was really about mid-century French petit-bourgeoise acting like pieces of criminal shit.
‘Have you read this before?’ he asked Joanna, who was hovering nearby, a German book hanging loose in hand.
Sila showed her the cover to make sure, but she shook her head and said, ‘the name’s weird, and I don’t speak French, but, actually, that naked woman next to the boat funnel does look a little like a comic I saw in Ljubljana once.’
‘A French comic?’
‘I think it was the day before I met you, a few days before you came out of the cabinet in my room.’
‘Don’t know where you were before that. You haven’t told me yet.’
‘I thought we’d moved past this.’
‘Maybe you don’t remember. Maybe your brain isn’t very strong. What do you mean? I am moving past it, I’m moving forward, here, in Denmark.’
‘I’m buying this comic.’
‘You’re the one who won’t move past anything.’
‘… … … …’
Sila took the comic to the counter, but there was no one serving so he poked his head into the back room and that’s when he saw the cabinet, all green, standing completely alone in the corner.Continue reading