He spits on the ground and immediately kicks some dirt on it with his boot.
    "You know, I'm not really homeless," he says and grins into the sun. "I mean I've got a place I can go to. I've got parents and all. It's just that…" he looks across the street as some teens skate by. He sighs and just stops there. In the middle of whatever he was going to say. The heavy dreadlocks are hanging like jumbo lianas down from his head and the bearded face makes him look older than he probably is.
    Fredde has been living on the street "off and on", as he puts it, for about a year now. When I ask him why he doesn't go to his parents or tries to get a job he just shakes his head.
    "What's the point?" He stares across the street and makes a sunshield out of his hand. "I'll only do that if it gets really bad. But…" he smiles. "It's nice though. Nice knowing you've got another option. I don't have to do this if I don't want to." He looks at me. "Kinda safe, if you know what I mean."

At the gymnasium he took the social science program. He enjoyed it, but still he cut pretty much class. It was because of his friends, he says, who preferred strolling round the city rather than "being stuck in some classroom".
    "I was pretty much following the flow then. But now I've changed. I'm myself now. I know who I am."
    The favorite lesson was social science, where he used every chance he got to have a verbal fight with the teacher.
    "I loved those lessons. I always managed getting into these big disputes with the teacher. I like to test limits. Once I got her so far that she called me an anarchist. But she changed her mind and apologized at once. It was fun though."
    Fredde repeatedly comes back to that people do not understand him. It's like he's trying to set a statement. So obvious and clear for him, but hazy and strange for his surrounding.
    "I'm not trying to set any statement," Fredde objects. "This is not a protest. I'm just being myself. If you want to call me lazy, call me lazy. If you think I'm stupid, do that. That's your problem. But this is who I am. And I'm not doing anything I don't want to. People don't understand me, that's all."

I ask him how his friends react to him living on the street and a smile slowly carries over his face as he stares across the street.
    "Most people think I'm just a grunger. Not many of them know." It is quiet for a moment and we listen to the cars passing by.
    "You know Stockholm must be one of the weirdest cities there is," he says suddenly. "I once asked this woman for some change and she told me she wouldn't give me any money, but she could buy me a hamburger instead. So I said all right and then she went like all stiff and said she didn't have that much money. After that she just turned around and went without a word." He laughs.
    "Well, I gotta go," he says abruptly.
    "Oh. Where ya going?"
    "Dunno," he says with that enigmatic smile. "Just anywhere. But I've got a question for you."
    "Yeah…?"
    "Are you happy?"