2 Min Story

We looked out the window and knew, from the state of the building across the street, that it was time to get the hell out.
We crawled through the kitchen window, fell into the backgarden flowerbed, rolled across the lawn, scaled up and over the shed, hopped on top of our neighbour’s rusty yellow Citroen (she’s a flautist), and crawled towards our own waiting Ellehammer motorbike and sidecar. From there, we would head towards the shore where Gregor, the Bavarian lobsterman, would meet us and take us in his vessel across the bay.