I’ve just finished the chapter of Abhilash Talkies and a bowl of red soup avec legumes et corinande. The man at the cash told me I needed to know a little French if I were to live here and made a terrible cappuccino, totally without love. Can’t tell if he is more threatened or I. That piano piece The Notebook ruined is playing but shifting keys. Palestinian scarves hang near the translucent windows, condensation slap-dashed on the panes like a poor man’s wallpaper.
Also, I made plans for the Future today.