Stockholm, in the middle of a park, with a great view of the city I look down at my feet, where a collection of scraps has been spread out on the ground. The Swedish name is translated to bookmarks, but I think they say 'scraps' in English. As a child I had a period collecting and exchanging them, for example collecting only wild animals and giving all flower scraps away. I guess it's the same thing now among small children.
So, what has happened here on the top of a mountain in the centre of a park? A thief with a stolen bag hiding in the bushes, who in disappointment has thrown these pieces of paper around himself? Or herself? Or only traces of a bad tempered kid? Shit the same, here they are for some time, fragments from something that happened. Things among other small and big things around us proving that after all there is a history.
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