I follow a teenage girl into the delayed commuter train. It’s always snowing in Sweden but she had chosen leopard colored tights as her pants of choice. She talks on the phone, I try and fall asleep, curing a lost floorball game with The National. Her father has just told her that he and her mother is getting a divorce, she laughs and explains how awkward it was, how her dad had asked her where he would be during Christmas. As if I would know, she says while nervously biting on her pink nails while looking out on a winter Stockholm.
When we reach Södermalm the tunnel cuts her phone off. She tries to redial but fails, she is starring at her phone in disbelief. I cherish the silence outside the angst of The National’s music in my headphones. After a while she gives up and puts her phone down. Suddenly tears fall down her cheeks, I turn towards her. Trying to think of something to say. She looks at me with angry eyes, telling me without words to shut up and leave her alone. I change songs but only hear her quiet tears. I see her putting on a Pink song on her ipod. She has the same version and color as I do. We both get off at the same stop and disappear into the snowy evening.