“I mean, if I hadn’t seen your secret loft in Stockholm, I wouldn’t know this apartment belonged to the same person. There’s nothing here, Henrik. No books, no camera stuff, no art. Where’s all your stuff?” I just shrug. “I don’t live here.” He laughs. “What?” “Hen, that makes no fucking sense. You spend more time living here than you do in Sweden.” “I work here,” I correct. “My life is in Sweden. It will always be in Sweden.”
