They meet in front of the chocolate factory and decide to go in. While the Norseman finds them a table she excuses herself to go freshen up.
A wrinkly woman, who she knows, is telling someone a most interesting story. If she exits the restroom the same way she entered, the wrinkly woman will recognize her and talk her into the ground. So she sneaks out the backdoor.
In the yard, she runs into a small pig with black fur and button-cute eyes. He asks her how she is. She says she’s fine as she walks down the illuminated street. The pig does not follow.
She turns to get back to the chocolate factory and to the Norseman. She turns again, the next corner, and finds herself on yet another unfamiliar street. Confused she turns again. And again.
Panic sets in. She seems unable to find her way back.
In a subway station, she runs into a group of people, who are altogether sweet, and they start chatting. They know the city and they know the chocolate factory.
A Bearded starts flirting with her. He is nice actually but also blunt in his efforts. He offers to accompany her, but she declines and walks out of the station.
Again she encounters the black-furred pig. And again, he asks her how she is. She is telling him she’s confused when her phone rings.
It is you. In your dry, Nordic accent you ask me where I am. So calm. So handsome. You send me a picture of the half-filled stein in front of you, a dried flower slipped in for decoration. You make me smile.
I wish I could tell you where I was. I wish I knew.
When we hang up, the Bearded appears and points out that I have something of his, that I am, in fact, holding his jacket. Not sure why I am. He inquires if he could perhaps help me find my way. I decline. I give him back his jacket and walk away. Again.
I seem to be on a treadwheel circling the place where I want to be. I may never reach you. The distance between the chocolate factory and me never changes.
Meeting in a chocolate factory may not have been the best choice to begin with.
Eventually, someone else stops me. A young man who I have absolutely nothing in common with. We start a conversation and perhaps we’ll never stop.