For two months now I’ve been walking all the way North of République to the Chinese supermarket, and what do I see tonight coming home from some shopping? Two “Supermarché Volta” trucks covered with ideograms — turns out there are three Asian supermarkets in the same street, one hundred meters away from my building. And one of the three doesn’t stink. Despite the presence of a butcher. That’s something.

I’m also glad I finally tried the Tunisian restaurant that’s too doors away from my home. It’s always nice living near a good, cheap restaurant. Of course, a sushi place would be better for my diet, but there are already plenty of those in the neighborhood anyway.

And let’s finish on a desperate note: it’s late May already. Almost June. After which is July, and then August, and a deserted Paris. And then it’s Christmas. A whole year past and I’ve done nothing!

I’ve got to hire friends so I can go out (now that I have roughly enough money to buy myself some drinks, and more than enough work to justify getting drunk in bars). But I’ve never quite known how one does that. You’ve got to start by fucking them, that’s how it’s done in the gay world, right?