/// the girl dreamed, the city waited.

The city waited. Waited for the fifteen-year-old boy who had not yet seen any of its splendor, and for all the others who were coming. It lived in their dreams and offered every opportunity.

But a young boy neither could see nor wanted to see that most were dark ones, that the opportunities for joy and life were far fewer than those for sorrow and death.

The boy dreamed. The city waited.

- Per Anders Fogelström: Stockholm, City of My Dreams