Eleventh chapter

Having a hard time sleeping in Seattle

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

Johnny Cash

A youngster with a gun in his hand stops me at a street corner.

I am on my way from a concert at the Café Racer to the Travelodge Motel in North Seattle late in the evening or rather early at night. The young man explains that he wants my wallet and my smart phone.

I have actually imagined this situation earlier in cities that have felt more threatening than Seattle. My plan A has been to run out of the roadway and get attention from a driver. But here's not a car as far as the eye reaches. No cyclists or pedestrians either. Here's totally abandoned place this late.

I surprise myself not to be afraid, just angry. I shout to the young man that he can forget about it. There is no reason he will get my belongings. He wiggles with his gun and says that's why I'm going to give him the wallet and the phone.

Calmer, I explain that as a 72 year old I'm not the least scared of dying. If he wants to kill an old man to get a four-year-old mobile phone with a camera that is not working, a few dollars and a credit card he cannot use without the code I'll never reveal, then he should shoot.

Have fun in prison the rest of your life!

He is thinking for a few moments, looks around, and then tries to scare me saying he can beat me up instead if he does not get what he wants.

I laugh loudly and ask if he has problem with his eyesight and has not seen that I am one head taller than him and very well trained for my age. I tell him that I've been a forest worker throughout my life and then lied that I 10 years ago killed a wolf attacking me in the woods by twisting his neck. He is probably a city boy who does not know much about animals and nature so he might believe me.

I continue the lies with the fact that ten years ago I was Swedish champion in kickboxing for seniors. Attack me to see what's happening!

He wondered what would happen and I answer him with a threat inspired by the Swedish author Jan Guillous's book Evil:

Within two minutes you will bleed from your nose, mouth and ears. You will have lost several teeth. The lower leg will be broken, as are both forearms. Your genitals will be twice as large as usual, but not the way you would like.

I feel a little sorry for you who cannot make your living in a better way than robbing old people, so I might refrain from kicking your thighs.

He looks a bit anxious and distrusts me and hesitates. Probably he has not read Jan Guillou, but maybe he has seen Crocodile Dundee 2 where there is a similar scene. Then he starts screaming about illegal threats and is shouting while he slowly is moving farther away from me. He puts his gun in his pants and begins to run.

I call 911 and a minute later a police car comes with blue lights and sirens likely to wake up the whole neighborhood.

When I tell my story, the policemen are laughing loudly at first, but then they become serious. This is not a behavior they want to encourage. They say I am lucky to survive after my stupid behavior. If the young man had been under the influence of the wrong substances he might have shot me straight away and I'd been here in a pool of blood without being able to speak to the police.

Another unpleasant option now is that the young man would take advantage of his dad, the lawyer, and sue me for my unlawful threats.

I show my Swedish driver's license to the police, give them my cell phone number and the name of the motel where I stay. They get my description of the gunman. It could fit into many young criminals. His hair cut was really ugly with a lot of hair on the top of his head and shaved sides, almost like an inverted bald head, ugly tattoos with a spider web on the neck, pale skin, gray hood jacket, blue jeans with knee holes and dirty sneakers. The police men are driving away trying to locate him after offering me a ride to the motel. I am happy to get the chance to tell my grandchildren that I have been riding in a police car in the United States. Otherwise, it would be nice walking to the motel to get some fresh air. At Café Racer felt a bit confined.

When I'm in the motel bed, I'm not so cocky any more. The body is tense and sleep is far away, very far away.

Why did I challenge the robber? I could as well have given him my old phone and probably got a new, better, from the insurance company. Afterwards, I calculated that I had about $ 100 in the wallet. There had been no personal disaster for me if gave them to that guy.

Certainly it was an idiot not to give him the phone and the money, but I followed my instinct. I do not want to contribute to crime by accepting it.

The thoughts spins arround in my head. How would I have done if he had been a foot taller than me? What would I have done if the little guy had tried to beat me? Had I really beaten him? How big is the risk that it will happen again? If the guy goes loose, dare I get out tomorrow?

I give up the attempts to sleep and pick up my computer and start googling on robberies. I do not get much wiser nor sleepier. Instead, I try to dispel my thoughts through going deep into Facebook. It does not work either. I'm so addicted to Facebook that I've been blunted. Then I try to search on the motel's TV channels, but I cannot find anything that can capture my interest. I don not like neither ridiculous comedies nor reruns of American football. They definitely do not make me stop thinking about the moments when I stared into a gun.

I might try drinking alcohol from the minibar. No, it turns out that the minibar only contains small bottles of beer or soda. I realize that I will need to pee rather than getting sleepy from the alcohol. No, wait now, I do not feel like peeing, but I’m not feeling like drinking beer in the cool, air-conditioned hotel room.

Now I came to something. The books I've had brought from home are read out, but I'm sure I saw a bookshelf at the reception. I could trade Patti Smith's latest book that I bought in Venice Beach, but did not get so fond of, to something else.

I'm taking on my long pants going down to the shelf, where I immediately find a book by one of my favorite authors, not translated to Swedish, Martin Cruz Smith. The book is called The Girl from Venice and is very newly published. How did it get here? When I open it I understand. It is stamped as a review book. A cultural journalist has recently stayed at the motel.

I get up and read and read it until it's time to go downstairs and eat the breakfast included in the room rate.

When I'm almost done with the breakfast, my smart phone rings. It's the police. They have caught a young man who they think is the one who tried to rob me. Can I get to the police station already in the morning to identify him? Yes.

After a quick shower, I take a taxi to the police station, where I meet some detective who takes me to a small room with a glass window that looks like a mirror on the other side. On the other side there are six guys with similar clothes about the same age. Everyone seems to be about as short and have similar hairstyles, inverted baldness. I do not hesitate. The tattoo on the neck is a reason that I feel absolutely confident. His facial features make me even more sure. That face has past me a lot of times during my sleepless night.

The detective is pleased I could quickly and easily answer the question. He wants to know how long I’ll stay in Seattle. When I tell me that I had only planned to stay for a maximum of two days, he got a little stressed and called the prosecutor immediately using a speakerphone. The detective promises to write the investigation before 3 PM this afternoon and the prosecutor has a suspended trial at 1 PM tomorrow, so they could run the trial then if I can. Yes, no problem.

I'm wondering how to tell this event to them at home. Of course, I do not want to scare anyone. At the same time, I want to be honest and not conceal something I do. For further reflection, I decide to email the long version of what happened to my wife and maybe my children a little later tonight and write a short version on facebook after the trial tomorrow.

Now the trial begins. The perpetrator who turns out to be called Ethan, 22 years old, admits that he tried to rob me, but argues as a sedative circumstance that the gun he used was just a dummy and could not hurt me in any serious way.

I get up in the testimony boot and promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing else. The judge tells me to tell him what happened last night. I take the short version, but without leaving ou my threats. I think that the entire testimony becomes credible if I am honest and sincere.

The judge asks if I had been prepared to make my threats real. I answer that almost all parents must be familiar with the term empty threats. No, I would not have implemented any of the threats.

He also asks if I have any economical demands, but I have not lost a cent from what happened and now I have something to tell when I get home. The judge hopes that I will not spread an overly bad picture of Seattle when I come home to Europe. I promise.

The judge announces a short break and then declines. Ethan turns out to be on parole and he is now sentenced to two years in prison for attempted robbery. He does not look happy when the sentence is terminated, but he does not seem to be completely broken. Whoever lives in a criminal world must always be prepared to give up freedom. However, I would like to say some encouraging words to Ethan, but we are kept effectively apart.

Back at the motel, I think about how to go on here in Seattle. I had thought about going to the Mount Saint Helen volcano, a good bit south of the city. I have read about the outbreak in 1980, where 250 homes were destroyed and 57 people were killed, including a photographer who had taken amazing pictures of nature's own drama. I also flew over the mountain a few years later and saw the extent of the destruction.

I also had a some thoughts of going up to Vancouver, which seems to be a nice city in many ways, but now the robbery has taken most of my energy for two days, and I think I'd rather spend a day here in Seattle before turning east. I have a flight ticket from Washington DC to Copenhagen in about two weeks and I really want to take some time when I travel through northern United States as well.

So I decide to stay here one day and then go to an old favorite city, Billings in Montana. It takes almost 18 hours with Greyhound, but the journey across Rocky Mountains is beautiful. Partly, it will be dark, but it's a bang I can take.

Here in Seattle, I'm going to spend tomorrow going to the Space Needle tower, to see the bizarre Lenin statue, visit the very modern city library, walk around Green Lake and visit the Museum of Pop Culture. Then I will be satisfied.

I'd been thinking of listening to more music the next two nights, but I've been a little scared of walking in Seattle in the evening, so I will be satisfied whatching TV and computer at the motel for the next two evenings.

No, I am changing my mind. I have read about Crocodile Café, where bands such as Pearl Jam, Nirvana and REM have played. The place is in the city center, so I take a taxi and get a business card so I can call when I want to return to the Travelodge.

I've never heard of the band playing here, but I like it. It sounds both noisy and melodious, just the kind of music I have liked since my youth. I do not need to tell the name of the champion in that genre.

The audience here is younger than the music venues I visited in Nashville and Memphis. I may imagine, but I think some people look a bit strange at me. No one makes the least sign of speaking with me. I concentrate on the music. Several in the audience are quite similar to Ethan who tried to rob me. I feel uncomfortable.

I take the taxi back to the motel long before the concert is over. When I've emptied my bladder I fall asleep quickly.

At the Lenin Statue, I am now thinking about what Putin and Trump can do in the future. It seems that they want to change the history of the world by turning their watches back almost 100 years, even though they have embraced some novelties like twitter and hacking other people's emails.

I do not really understand why Lenin stands statue here. When I google, I find a theory that ignorant Americans have mixed up communist leader Vladimir Lenin with John Lennon, a member of the Beatles.

On Google's photos of Lenin statue, I find that Seattle residents like to change the Lenin statue. The five-meter tall statue has been dressed in skirts and bra.

John Lennon, I also encounter in the Museum of Pop Culture. There they know the difference between Lenin and Lennon anyway. Here I am also reminded you of a really good movie recorded here. I is called The Fabulous Baker Boys, starring the Bridges Brothers and Michelle Pfeiffer, a romantic comedy with a lot of music.

Too bad that the visit here started so badly. The city seems to be worth a longer and more pleasant visit.

From Kurt Andersson's Facebook 

Martin Franklin, Atlanta

My new life is wonderful. I feel like a new person. I keep losing weight but the most important factor is that I move much more. Both going to the gym and the long walks have resulted in a lot more strength.

I still have a long way to go to look like a normal person, but I feel so strong. I am going to succeed.

Mary Jackson, Dallas

I have a dream! I would like to leave this country of ignorance and start a new life in Europe.

Are there any of my friends with experience of moving to another part of the world?

What are the problems? What are the benefits? Do you think I would regret leaving Dallas?

Who would come and visit?

Mia Turner, New Orleans

Today we had a gunfight in my bar. I wish that not so many young men would walk around with a gun in their hand. Nobody, except the police, should carry guns.

Nobody got killed in the gunfight in my bar, but one young man was badly wounded.

Stop the violence now!

Sonny Smith, Memphis

The last week Tom and I have written five new songs for our album. It will be an extremely political album – something like Neil Young’s “Living the War”. I am not sure the record company will be all that happy about it, but it is worth a try.

Angela Williams, San Francisco

Fuck! I am still in bed with the flu, or maybe complications from the flu. Is there anyone that could help to do some shopping? I would need a good book and a bottle of booze.

Emma Jones, Portland

I would still have voted for Donald Trump if the election were today. I do not want to send our American boys abroad to fight somebody else’s war.

Facts about Seattle

• Seattle is located in the state of Washington at the Pacific just under 130 miles south of the Canadian border.

• The city had 652 405 inhabitants in 2013.

• Seattle University has approximately 7,500 students.

• Close to Seattle is the 14,411 feet high Mount Rainer volcano. A bit farther away is the active volcano Saint Helen, 8,363 feet high.

• Major IT companies like Microsoft and Amazon are important parts of business here.

Read more at www.seattle.com