And in the sky, in that fantastic summer of 2002, the sun shone, sinking red into the Mälardalen every night, as if shrouded by a veil of blood, its last rays glittering gold on all the city’s towers and spires, and I was immortal. Seven years later, toward the end of the not-quite-so-fantastic summer of 2009, here I was with Geir again, in the bathroom of our apartment in Malmö, watching the four kids splashing about in the bath as the sky outside, which I couldn’t see but whose light I could sense through the rectangular windows, gradually darkened.
