Mr. Exhaust breather was home alone last night, should be fun. I kicked up my feet, I popped "Earthed 4 death or glory" in the DVD player and got myself ready for some sweet downhill and freeride action...
And then the phone rang.
"Hi det er M, hvordan gaar det?"
"Hi M, det gaar godt nok, men hvordan har I det?"
"Ikke saa godt, F er døde..."
The rest of the evening passed in a blurry haze. I called L to tell her that M's father-in-law passed away, called my parents, went to bed...
The ride into work this morning was quite hard; memories of F were my co-pilot.
PS: If anybody asks me whether I'm OK I'll just tell 'em it's the bloody wind that makes my eyes so red and swollen.
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