I arrived at the station fifteen minutes early and tried to stir my coffee on the platform with a thin wooden stick that would no doubt be suitable for anything (smears, cleaning the ear canal, a ladybug runway, or building a brick wall). very, very tiny house) but not for stirring sugar into coffee with milk foam.
Standing next to me were two women in their thirties. One was a bony blonde with dreadlocks in a faded purple dress, the other had hair dyed cherry red and ears studded with metal ornaments.
‘I have that again, you know’, the red one shouted out loud in juicy Amsterdam. ‘I finally got rid of that borderline Jeffrey, and after three dates I fall for a guy with a personality disorder again. A nice thing, by the way.’ The blonde nodded dully, as if nothing surprised her. The red one began to list, “Separation anxiety. Sleep during the day and play games at night. Hardly any social contacts. What do you say? I hesitate between an avoidant and a dependent personality disorder. Insecurely attached, too.’
The blonde thought for a moment. “Isn’t that just depression?” she said. ‘How are you in bed? Is something happening?’ The red one made a tilting gesture with her right hand. “Well…” she said. ‘Actually that’s still okay. And that is quite atypical with depression. So…’
Her speech was interrupted by loud music, the well-known get lucky by Daft Punk, from a boombox, carried along by a wiry, dancing boy who was completely absorbed in the music. A handsome boy, yes. He sang along:
‘She’s up all night ’til the suuuuun….You’re up all night to get sooome…’ I thought back to about ten years ago when I get lucky heard for the first time. I found it fascinating that a song in a minor key could be so infectiously cheerful. I also heard strange things in the lyrics, about a ‘legendary penis’ and a ‘Mexican monkey’, but it turned out I misunderstood.
The boy cranked up his boombox a little harder. ‘We’re up all night to get lucky…we’re up all night to get lucky…’, he sang along. “Godskolere,” said the red one. ‘What’s this?’ ‘A classic narcissist’ concluded the blonde. She stared at the boy furiously. Smiling, he looked back and dancing he blew her a kiss. ‘Did you see that?’, the blonde hissed. ‘Totally passive aggressive!’
“He does have a nice head,” said the red one. “That’s it, isn’t it. When they have a nice cup of coffee, they think they can get away with anything. And that’s where it is.’