No.3

There are too many lights here in the night time.

A couple of nights ago I was walking home having just survived a completely full N11-bus with smelly hobos pressing themselves next to me and sluring some random anecdotes. I stumbled across Champs-Élysées to my home street and suddenly I noticed that in one of the back-alleys there were no lights. It was all dark, just a little shade of light coming around the corner. I wanted to snuggle up against the wall and just stay there, in the dark. Of course I didn't but it made me realize that there are too many lights in Paris.

Last night was amazing. I got out of work at 1 o'clock and since it was Friday the metro was still open and I didn't have to take the night bus. I was at home around 1.20 and S was still awake. She opened the door wearing only a red satin morning gown and said: "Hey sexy, wanna have some wine?" Then she pulled a bottle behind her back and I said: "jesus christ how I love you sometimes!" So we started drinkingdrinkingdrinking listening to 70's Disco Hits and Tubular Bells (yes it is a weird combination but it works surprisingly well!) when suddenly J sent me a message. He said he was in Paris and might I want to see him and oh his battery is almost dead. I said why not, come over but of course his battery failed so he didn't get my message so me and S finished the bottle, had a cigarette and went to sleep. We've become so good friends that she actually is like a sister to me, in good and in bad. We quarrel and sometimes get a little violent with each other but at the same time I've never laughed so hard with anyone else.

Well, I'm off to work. I have a 4h lunch shift and then in the evening a 6h dinner shift and then, finally, my weekend begins. Before I got this job I used to party practically every night with S and I guess we never spent our Fridays and Saturdays sober (or Thursdays.. I remember a few sober Wednesdays. And Tuesdays. I don't remember anything about our Mondays or Sundays so I suppose I wasn't drinking? I won't bet on that, though.). But now I'm lucky if I can have a few glasses of wine on Sunday afternoon and that's about it.
Paris made me an alcoholic. Or rather a sober-ophobic.