![]() ![]() Past the jetty there was a vast thicket of scrub, scratchy, hard, and dark. ![]() Below, blond families ran from the gray waves breaking into lacy foam bunches of stinking seaweed sat in clumps as though baled and far beyond, at just about the edge of where Paul could see, a rough-hewn, stone jetty cut the beach in two. But from where he was sitting, he could look out at the water while he ate. Lunch at the museum was overpriced, though even after a half a year in Denmark it took him a moment to figure out what too expensive meant in kroner-he still always did a rough conversion back to dollars in his head. ![]() A broken wagon wheel in particular caught Paul’s eye, and he took a selfie with the wheel as his halo. In one gallery, a cloven cow floated in a tank of blue liquid, and in another murals collaged from garbage decorated the walls. He’d taken the metro and a train from Vanløse, and then spent the morning at the museum. Paul had read online that Ishøj Strand was where he could cruise for sex, if that was what he wanted. ![]()
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