Sunday Night

I am sitting on the spacious windowsill in the kitchen. A candle in front of me. The lights from the corridor falling in through the door. A warm spring Sunday night. A few stars above. A nice breeze in the trees and on my cheeks. My mind’s adrift. I am sure, soon I am gonna miss Hamburg’s peace and quite. But tonight there is a bottle of French red wine just for me. Its ruby red colour in the glass. Its dry taste in my mouth. There is the latest Whitest Boy Alive album in the stereo. Its happy beats keep me warm. Its bittersweet vocals keep me company.
I know, you might say every song sounds the same. You might make fun of the repetitive style; of Erlend’s limited vocal expression… but I couldn’t think of a better soundtrack for this night. It’s perfect.