THE ONLY WAY TO HAVE A FRIEND IS TO BE ONE*
Half an hour south from us, the leaves on the chestnut trees are singed with brown around the edges; autumn in the hems. The lights are on in the sugar beet factory although the chimneys are not yet pouring sugar-smoke into the darkening evenings. It’s dark when I arrive for choir practice, or nearly, and the lights in the fountains of Pildammsparken glow unearthly across the water. It’s dark when I drive home, the choral-aid CD for the concert plunking out an alto harmony in monochromatic style. It’s dark when I drag my reluctant self out of bed in the...