CPH

It’s 3am

and I’ve just rolled a joint to smoke by the benches

a break between double rum and cokes and happy hour shots

Tom’s ordered a Guinness, feigning indignation that the music would change from his Irish hymns

for which he knows every word

to salsa

the Latin beats from scratchy speakers charm a flow from Yamileh and Cara

a natural sway saunters in their hips

none of us can follow

though we try to bumble along in good faith,

patient teachers, piss poor students

Leo has donned eyeliner to match his painted nails, flecked and worn from days at the bar,

his hands in mine as we two-step poorly, drawn from his stoic restraint

our shoes a mash of colors and patterns and uneven gaits

It’s 4am

I’m rolling a cigarette, tobacco is a different consistency than weed

tightly tucking the thin papers under itself

well-practiced now from playing dice in smokey jazz clubs

Fernet rounds are high stakes bets on dice under leather cups

Russians, Danishes, Italian, American, strangers blustering around a table.

Mattias postures sobriety with each inversion

demonstrating handstands in the quiet street where

more bikes than cars pass by the fountain

bubbles from gaping fish mouths

us guileless travelers in drunken companionship.

Nora smokes in silence, contemplating the stars from on the bridge

Intimacy in eye of an artist is a calculated condition

It’s 5am

Juan uses his high cheekbones to persuade us to jump into the canal,

sweet lips sing devilish suggestions we cannot refuse

Plunging into the warm water

only heightens the highs

We help Minna float who can’t swim,

like seriously can’t swim,

but jumped in anyway, with her glasses on

before the cops show up to shoo us away

It’s 6am

when Carla and I share a burger

grateful for strong Spanish stomachs

Lun rolls a cheeky spliff to accompany our meals

gracious after the audacity of ordering a black velvet from an Irish bartender

almost like telling Alessio I could make a carbonara

too polite to be indignant, unlike some of his Italian brethren

We’re stooped on the sidewalk, surrounded by remnants of fastfood orders

uncharacteristically littering the concrete

drunken haze, best decisions

The gradient of the night sky glows, lightens the morning mist

another day in Copenhagen