Two years back, on the night Norway beat Brazil in the world cup, I was at home in bed without a TV, my girlfriend kneeling next to me moisturizing my forehead to cool off the fever my infected throat caused. She had detected some strange virus in Greece and my body was not able to ward it off: I felt terrible. I was able to follow the progress of the soccer match by listening to the roaring of Oslo's population, and soon felt better realizing that Norway actually won the game. With my girlfriend's travelling partner asleep on my couch, Oslo going crazy with flags and alcohol and lucious celebrations unseen since the liberation from the German occupation fifty years earlier, a throat infection which a few days later when my girlfriend had left made me unable to eat anything but soup which really was nothing but water since I was broke like I am now, my girlfriend and I snug into the kitchen which was the only other room of my apartment and had the greatest sex! My throat hurt but my lips burned, and my overheated body made an excellent partner for her skin in the chilly kitchen that summer night of under average temperatures while John and Heidi were on the Appalachian trail about halfway to the end and I knew that in the morning she would be on the train for Denmark and I have never seen her since.