Kære Emre,

Rain all morning on Frederikssundsvej, the good kind, the kind that makes the whole bus smell like wet coats and someone's kebab.

I took Deniz with me on the early shift. Six years old and he stood the entire route with one hand on the rail like a man guarding a bank. Nobody told him to. He informed a woman from Bispebjerg that he was "helping." She let him.

Here is the thing I wanted to tell you. At Nørrebrohallen the line assistant did its little polite chime — manual assist requested — and I put my hands on the wheel for four hundred metres of roadwork, and Deniz went completely silent. Afterwards he asked, very quietly, if the bus was scared. I said no. I said it just likes to know someone is there.

He thought about that until Nørreport.

Emre, I drive a machine that mostly drives itself and I have never felt more necessary than at 07:20 today, with a small boy watching my hands.

Anne says bring the kids at jul. Bring them.

din bror Y.

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