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passed since the scream in his ear to self-control and calm. One second that proves to Titus that anything is possible.His technique works. Whatever the situation he finds himself in, he has only to resort to his threat or reward images. It takes less than a second. He is strong now. Titus turns toward the loudmouth.
    ‘Lenny… nice to see you,’ he says without conviction, and touches his ear as a sign that he intends to protect it from further aggressive trespassing.
    ‘M-me too. I mean… the same. Sorry that I screamed in your ear. Can’t help it. It just happens. Tourette’s syndrome, you know. As soon as I get the slightest bit excited or surprised, then it comes. I was happy to see you.’
    ‘Yes, but I know, Lenny. It’s cool. It’s okay.’
    ‘Thanks, Titus. Well, what are you doing here?’
    ‘I’m just sort of scouting around, you could say. Got a new project going and I need a bit of inspiration. And you?’
    ‘M-my girlfriend works in the museum café. Malin – have you met her?’
    Titus shakes his head.
    ‘Well, she works in the restaurant here. Shall we scrounge something tasty?’
    ‘Okay.’
    Titus gets in the queue for the cashier behind a couple of cultured ladies dressed in black. They smile at him and nod very discreetly, as if they knew him. Or had known him a long time ago and now wanted to make themselves known so as to avoid any embarrassment. Has he slept with one of them? Or both? Nothing is impossible, Titus realises, and nods back almost as discreetly before looking away.
    The counter is filled with enormous ciabatta sandwiches and cakes and biscuits that are as big as small plates. The sarnies are a bit rustic and look as if somebody had scattered too much flour onto them before they were put in the oven. Houmous, brie, salami, some fancy cabbage leaves and sun-dried tomatoes, the contents are overflowing on all sides.
    The giant biscuits have extremely uneven edges. Titus thinks that the person who has baked them must have been a little child or somebody with a serious disability. It’s a very goodthing that they employ disabled people at Moderna Museet! The cultural upper class can be in need of a bit of grim reality. To be forced to cope with your own or somebody else’s handicap is an everyday occurrence for many people. It doesn’t really matter what the biscuits look like; it’s the contents and the taste that counts. And the contents are extremely visible since the biscuits are very buckled. Here and there, bits of chocolate, raisins and nuts stick out. Besides, not all the biscuits have been baked properly; some are even burnt at the edges. Titus takes a handicap biscuit and fills a large cup with coffee. He pushes his tray towards the cash register.
    ‘That will be fifty-nine kronor, please,’ says the cashier and gives him a friendly smile.
    ‘What, I took one of the failed biscuits! Look, it is almost burnt. Isn’t there a price reduction for these?’
    ‘Very funny!’ the cashier laughs. ‘No, they are meant to be like that. These are Jamie Oliver’s biscuits. They are really tasty, I promise. We sell his biscuit and cake book in the shop.’
    Now Lenny comes up to the cash register. On his tray he has a portion of cake that is the size of a little flower pot. He leans over Titus and makes a kissing sound with his lips.
    ‘He-hello, Malin.’
    ‘Hello, Lenny.’
    ‘H-he is with me. This is the Titus Jensen that I told you about. The festival, you know.’
    ‘Oh yeah! Eddie’s mate. Right. Hi, Titus.’
    Cashier Malin glances at the queue behind Lenny. Some young mothers stand pointing and deciding among the various biscuits and pastries. Their indecision has created a little gap after Lenny and Titus. Malin lowers her voice and gives them a sly look.
    ‘Okay, coffee and cakes are on me today. Enjoy yourselves. See you!’
    ‘Oh, thank you very much,’ says Titus, and rather regrets not taking a giant sarnie instead. But they looked so expensive and