grève générale:
thanks to someone's less than completely justified desire to skip school and throw half-empty bottles of eau de vie at police barricades, it took me almost two hours to go twenty minutes. the bus stop at bastille had a sign that i believe translates "fuck off," so i obediently took the one-line to châtelet, where fiftythousand people had been waiting fiftythousand minutes for a train train that wasn't fiftythousand coming. resignedly enough, i decided to climb to ground level and catch the trusty thirtyeight, which was so nonexistant that it didn't even bother to leave me a (kind) fuck off: bonne journée. so i walked home. and it was tuesday. so it was pissing like a raining cow. (CPE: cow qui pisse sur evan.)
rêve général:
i'm in the lobby of the hilton next to the big metal thing looking to pick up a girl, maybe the daughter of a businessman here on vacation, interested in an exciting weekend but too timid to make one for herself. i'll know her because she'll smoke incessantly and probably dye her hair black. as it were, i find not the daughter but the wife, and no sooner do we find a bit a shade than her hand is looking for something in my pants. an almost frightening amount of desire. i chase something with a shot of whiskey and then wake up in that big apartment on rue de rivoli that i vaguely remember breakdancing in, but this time i remember nothing. i hear mumbled chatter in the adjacent room, interspersed with laughter and a few mispronunciations of my name. a girl comes in to clean my bloody knees and to tell me that i jumped off the bridge onto the boat. "you can't say i didn't warn you." like the night before in non-dream world, i grabbed her arm to pull her in to kiss me, but she was too annoyed that i'd grabbed her arm for me to be able to go throught with it. six times in one dream i woke up to no memory but the stories i heard from other people. when I finally woke-up woke up, i remembered everything from the previous night but convinced myself that i'd dreamt it.
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