hablando solo

I bought a bootleg CD the other day which was unexpectedly filled with music in French with a nice, easy, rhythmic beat. It’s playing now, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been dancing throughout my room all night and will in all likelihood continue to do so until bedtime. I don’t know what the lyrics are saying, but I assume it’s something happy about dancing. I made cheap Chinese noodles, and ate them with my exquisite glass-bottle soy sauce. I poured myself two glasses of black currant juice, a new favorite. I can see Shanghai’s night skyline out my window, busy and blinking. My laundry is, of course, tackily drying on a rack on my balcony. And dessert? Green tea Oreos. The answer to the question you’re thinking is ‘No, it does not get better.’

Sante!