Las Vegas is messy.
02.04.19, Las Vegas. Didn’t expect anything less. Never found parking for the nice Toyota Corolla that very tan Javier upgraded me to, so all images are drive by and equally messy. And monochrome. And maybe that’s okay.
Today I broke into my first New Yorker apartment.
18.03.19. The day started relatively safe. Packing and boxing all my belongings in Copenhagen, and moving them to the basement. After that a short trip to the airport and a longer flight to JFK. There I found a very nice man with a very nice car named after his youngest son Isi, who drove me to the bodega, where I was supposed to pick up the keys for my friend’s place. It was closed.
I rang all the bells and got into the building. Then knocked most of the doors until a young, nervous girl opened and I tried, awkwardly, to persuade her to allow me to enter her room — to get to the fire escape. She did not feel comfortable with the idea. After the failed attempt, there was only one solution left. I climbed a rusty stair unto a roof with too much luggage and too little light. After identifying the right windows to the right apartment, I needed a tool to open them. Searching a nearby shed, I found the only usable tool available: A large knife. This was neither the right tool nor a smart thing to climb dark, rusty stairs with. Also, I immediately pictured how this would appear to anyone, without an understanding of my situation. I felt the likeliness of me spending the night in jail of the misunderstood increasing. The knife stayed in the shed while I empty-handedly climbed the stairs and with silent movements pried the window open with the tips of my shaky fingers. Inside, wifi and a beer. Okay.