mikkel bryggers redux

LAGKAGEHUSET, a Copenhagen bakery facing Buka, another Copenhagen bakery, facing a money exchange, cornered by pedestrians, pigeons, cappuccino foam drying in ceramic cups on little tables in the hot sun, and an old(er) bum sleeping on a bench nearby, which reminds me of another bum I saw this morning by the train station, sunburned and adrift, long greasy hair, indigent garbage picker, laughing at the joke of the world, amid the commuter crunch rush onslaught, and an impromptu business meeting in a café corner meantime overheard, the English catchphrase being, ‘exactly, exactly,’ all hours ago now, but a short distance from this Bum No. 2, under the God Smag, God Tid sign of the bakery, slumbering beside a peeling concert poster for an event that took place in April. This street is called Mikkel Bryggers Gade. It terminates with the Grand Teatret, gilded cinema venue of yore, wherein Young Justin and Young Patrick once watched Apocalypse Now: Redux in ’01. Patrick was unimpressed, as I remember, Young Justin was nonplussed. (‘Some more people die, and everyone gets laid,’ Pat’s review.) There used to be a little deli here too, run by an aspiring Dane in a chef’s hat and his wife selling smørrebrød. Today, their dream is dead, but the cinema survives, as well as a Vietnamese eatery. Across the way, an erotic boutique called Lust. The bum sleeps on, wonderfully.

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