Minna is tormenting herself.
Minna feels that Lars is a hit-and-run driver.
The hit-and-run driver has suffered at most a dented fender.
Minna savors her injuries.
Her heart is spot bleeding.
Her mouth stands agape.
Minna comforts herself.
Minna has the music, after all.
No one can take the music from her.
The music is an existential lifeline.
Minna would just rather have a child.
Minna ought to be glad for what she’s got.
Minna would just rather have a child.
Once upon a time, composers were sufficient unto themselves.
Composers didn’t need to have kids.
The tendency has changed:
Minna should take it upon herself to have a child.
Minna looks at the bookcase.
Minna grabs the first book under B.
Ingmar Bergman opens up for her.
Bergman’s wearing the beret.
Bergman’s gaze peers deep into Minna.
Bergman wants to get in under Minna’s persona.
Minna’s persona attempts to make way for him.
Minna wants Bergman all the way inside.
Bach plays.
The neighbor thumps.
Bergman drills.
Minna keeps all superfluous organs to the side.
Bergman says, I am drilling, but …
Either the drill breaks, or else I don’t dare drill deeply enough.
Minna’s managed the impossible:
Bergman can’t find the woman in Minna.
The mother won’t turn up.
The mother, the whore, the witch.
Minna lifts up her blouse a little.
Bergman shakes his head.
Minna stuffs him up under the blouse.
Bergman doesn’t protest.
Bergman makes himself comfortable.
Bergman whispers sweet words to her.
Bergman’s words don’t work.
Minna’s lower lip quivers.
Minna whispers, I used to sing.
Minna hasn’t been out of her apartment in three days.
Minna has sent a lot of texts.
Minna has asked Lars to tell her what was supposed to be in front of But.
Lars doesn’t reply.
Lars won’t budge an inch.
Lars was otherwise so mellow.
Minna recalls when they last saw each other.
Minna and Lars lay in bed.
Minna stroked his beard.
Minna read and interpreted.
Lars just needs time.
Minna decides to send Lars an email.
Minna writes, I think we should meet and talk about it.
Minna writes, We can always of course befriends.
Minna writes, I miss you so.
It’s wrong to write that, yet she’s written it regardless.
It thunders through the ether.
The email’s directional.
Minna’s ashamed.
The rehearsal space is gone.
Tim’s on Bornholm.
Minna’s got no money.
Minna’s got no boyfriend.
Minna’s only got herself, and now she’s going out.
Minna goes down the stairs.
Minna goes down to her bike.
The bike stands in the backyard.
The backyard amplifies all sound.
The neighbors’ orgasms, the magpies, the pigeons dominate.
Minna puts on her bike helmet.
Minna bikes onto Amagerbrogade.
Minna walks through the revolving doors into the Royal Library.
Minna wants to concentrate.
The young female students are wearing high heels.
The heels bang against the floor.
Minna despises the students’ high heels.
Minna despises their catwalk character.
Minna doesn’t think they’ve studied what they ought to.
Minna fiddles with her sonata.
Minna removes long hairs from her blouse.
Minna waits for news from Lars.
Karin’s sent her an email.
Karin sends lots of emails every day.
Karin’s emails are long.
Karin tells about her life in the country.
Minna’s with her in the bedroom.
Minna’s with her at handball in the gym.
Minna isn’t shielded from anything.
Karin uses Minna as a diary.
Karin’s everyday life will take over Minna’s.
Minna makes a rare quick decision.
Minna writes, Dear Karin.
It’s not you.
It’s me.
Minna breaks up with Karin.
All things must have an end.
A worm has two.
Minna doesn’t write the last bit.
One shouldn’t hurt others unnecessarily.
One should above all be kind.
Minna would rather not be anything but.
Minna’s hardly anything but.
The email thunders through the ether toward Karin.
That’s as it should be, thinks Minna.
The ether is full of malicious messages.
The ether hums with breakups and loss.
The ether is knives being thrown.
The ether is blood surging back.
Minna has wounded a creature.
Minna stares out on the canal.
Minna listens to the banging heels.
Minna needs to go to the bathroom.
Minna’s peed.
Minna’s back in her place.
Minna sits and feels the pain.
The pain’s a contagion.
The borders recede.
Cynicism buds.
Pointlessness grimaces!
Minna’s snuck Bergman out of her bag.
Minna’s got to concentrate.
Someone waves from behind the panoramic glass.
Jette’s standing with a bakery bag.
Coffee’s to be drunk on the quay.
Jette’s a classically trained harpist.
Jette’s given up finding rehearsal space.
The harp’s stood in her way her entire life.
Minna knows the feeling.
Minna’s had the same experience with grand pianos, but
Grand pianos grow on trees.
Harps are exclusive.
Harps are for fairies, angels, and the frigid.
Jette’s erotic.
Jette calls her boyfriends lovers.
Jette’s boyfriends are married to other women.
Jette’s studying composition in Reading Room North.
Minna writes paper sonatas in Reading Room East.
Minna and Jette drink coffee together.
The relationship isn’t supposed to get serious.
Jette talks too much about bodies.
Jette has an IUD in her genital tract.
Jette has discharges and domestic obligations.
Jette needs a weekend escape with a lover.
Jette fears vaginal dryness.
The uterus is an abandoned studio apartment.
The vagina’s the gateway to the enjoyment of all things.
Jette says, Don’t you agree?
Minna says, Isn’t that a balloon?
Minna points to a spot above the harbor.
Jette’s content with the two kids she has.
Enough’s enough, says Jette.
Jette has two kids, thinks Minna.
Minna has a hard time getting up from the quay.
Minna feels like a horse.
Minna says, I think it was Bugs Bunny.
Jette goes through the door into the Royal Library.
Minna stands there like a fly in the ointment, and then she has to pee.
Minna has to really pee, and it has to happen fast.
Minna has to go to the john twice a day on average when she works at the Royal Library.
Minna pees.
Minna fills her water bottle from the tap.
Minna leaves the john.