They said goodbye. The screen went dark. But on Jens’s desk, the Piccolo Boys magazine lay open to a boy and his gramophone. And for a moment, the room wasn’t quiet at all. It was full of the sound of nine-year-old laughter, bicycle bells, and the scratchy music of a wind-up record, playing across sixty years.
“Jens, you old rascal! You look like a dried herring.”
“About what?”
“I’ll bring the snaps,” Jens said.
“My fault? You were the one who threw water and ruined the floor!” Piccolo Boys Magazine Denmark oldies cames skype t
“Speak for yourself. I’m a ‘vintage classic.’”
“They don’t make magazines like that anymore,” Henning said finally, his voice soft. “No screens. Just boys and bicycles and imagination.” They said goodbye
Jens looked at his laptop, at the little green “online” dot. “Maybe not. But this isn’t so bad either. Lukas was right.”