The collectors’ paradise
I’m on my way to Upper East Manhattan to the home of Franklin and Johnny but first I’m meeting Johnny. He is something of a polyglot and speaks French, Spanish and Russian fluently, with a little Dutch and Turkish thrown in, and is currently studying Arabic. I discover he even has a little Swedish up his sleeve, as he texts me ’Jag är nästan där’, I’m almost there, just before we meet up at a cafe around the corner from their apartment. A cafe with the appropriate name of Fika, a Swedish word and phenomenon, meaning coffee break, preferably accompanied by buns or cakes. He is going to guide me to their apartment, snugly tucked away beside a church and quite hard to find. Franklin is at home and as soon as I get through the door they show me around. For an apartment in New York it’s pretty spacious, around 1000 square feet, and consists of three rooms and a kitchen. But it has only one narrow window at the far end of the …