I recently re-read the immigrants poem, I found in a backyard last year. At the time I thought it was sad, but after reading it again, I now see it differently. Like the writer actually appreciates the opportunity to drift unseen. So strange. Today I came across another souvenir from an immigrant. It might even be the same person?
Æ, Ø, Å, the last letters of our alphabet, unpronounceable to most if not adapted at an early age. Reads: Æ... rlighed (honesty), Ø... velse (practice), Å... penhet (open-mindedness). I think it is in Swedish, or maybe Norwegian? It is not often you hear foreigners here rave about being one, even Danes harp on other Danes for being unwelcoming, so I find this one quite refreshing.
It is stenciled on a glass recycling container, and as I walked around the other side, sure enough there was an addition:
Are you kidding me?