Otto.

At six, Otto has dinner. At seven he switches on the portable radio — NRK P1 for the news, P2 when there's classical music or a documentary — and leaves it at the lowest volume. At eight he sits by the living-room window. The window is open. Yes, in March. Yes, in Tromsø. Yes, at fifteen below. And he listens. The wind on the facade of the seventies wooden building. The sea out past Kvaløya. The footsteps of the upstairs neighbor, already turning in at that hour. Sometimes a car on the road. Sometimes nothing.

A cup of coffee between his hands. Alone. Always alone. By that hour he's already put in eight hours in a cold-storage room sorting fish, gone down to the basement to check the seed store, walked a while if it was a movement day, and made dinner with what he left ready the night before. The coffee isn't to wake him up: it's to have something warm between his hands while his body winds down. The arctic fox sleeps wrapping its face and paws in its own tail. Otto gets into bed at nine, pulls a gray wool blanket he's had since Hammerfest up over his head, and hugs his knees.

The open window at night is his version of what others get from meditating, running, or looking at their phone. It isn't discipline. It's need. The hypersensitive hearing that lets him catch a conveyor belt about to fail needs this too: a stretch of sounds that ask nothing of him. The sea asks nothing. Neither does the wind.

This mug carries the portrait on the outside: the navy beanie, the striped sweater, the amber eyes looking straight at you, the silver-gray fur. The inside is colored — a detail you catch every time you drink, a contrast with the image outside that works without trying. It's the kind of object you use every day, no ceremony. The first week you look at it. The second you just take it off the shelf, fill it, and sit down. It starts to become part of the routine without your planning it. On the desk, next to the computer. In the kitchen, next to the coffee maker. On the living-room table, if you're one for breakfast on the sofa.

There are two sizes in the selector. If you tend to fill the mug to the top and refill it half an hour later, the large size makes more sense. If you'd rather a mug that's done before the coffee goes cold, the small one works.

Exact capacity? What material? How do you care for it? It's all in **Size and capacity** and in **Material and finish**. Origin and availability in **Origin, production and availability**.