He was a big man, my old friend. His name was Jan, most people called him Janne. When he came into a room, people noticed. Not only because he was both tall and wide, but because he laughed higher than anyone in there. And he laughed a lot.
He was a fisherman. We owned a small cabin village in the middle of the forest, where he was our only permanent resident. We had some great fishing water around there. It was a small cabin, but he managed to fit a surprisingly large collection of movies in there. Whenever I came over, he made me gooseberry soda and put on my favorite movie, Across the Great Divide. On VCR, of course. It must be at least fifteen years since I saw it the last time, but I still remember every line.
Since we lived in the middle of nowhere, where we had 20 kilometers to the nearest civilization, Janne was the one of my closest friends. He taught me how to fish (well, at least he tried) and how to make fish flies, which I was actually pretty good at. Something I could spend hours with.
Janne past away around ten years ago, when I was busy being an obnoxious teenager and always thought I could get in touch another day. And then suddenly, there was no other day.
Thanks to My Modern Met for always finding and sharing great stories.
Mostly location independent, originally from Sweden, calls Berlin home and travel more than I intend to. See what I’m up to at the moment here.
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