Exeunt Me.

One year, three months and thirteen days later, and the booth is still intact, spreading its legacy with its light blue shimmer and stickers proclaiming low prices. The tourists still come pouring by. Timetables to Bromma are still waved by aggravted Skavsta travellers who wonder about the blatant lack of Skavsta busses.

Nothing really changes, and I think now, in retrospect, that I might have been a fool to think that anything would change. That will-power alone would open up a big black hole somewhere to the right and left of the booth leaving my window in the wall a destination only for the very brave, the very pure of heart, or the extraordinarily handsome.

I'd thought that at some point coffee would stay fresh for the full nine hours I sit there, that the wankers would stop asking for hand-jobs, that the old people would cease to look offended if you asked if they were seniors. That students would finally get their cards right or just not try to con a discount because they've forgotten their student card/ because they are poor/because they aren't really students, but they really really want the discount anyway.

I didn't succeed at any of these, and defeated, have resigned.