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The Uninvited

The Uninvited

The Uninvited

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eads, but you can make a flatbread. Washe into survivalism?’No, she insists. He wasn’t.After we say goodbye I picture her inher Bamboo-green jacket, with herwrinkled face and her teenage son Erik,and her going-crazy neighbour and herdead husband Jonas whose penis I sawresting on his thigh, and whose death Iwitnessed, who found beauty in tall things.Back in the living-room, Freddy is curledup on the sofa, asleep, with his bottom inthe air. <strong>The</strong> glass of milk is untouched.I spread my circles on the floor andbegin experimenting with sets. After a fewmoments, tenuous connections begin tomanifest.At 12.41 my phone rings.

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