the morning, white ceramic mug of water and phonetics presentation. creaking wood floor and white ceiling molding frame everything. the mirror over the fireplace reflects my face explaining and the back of everyone else's heads, i look away, i don't mean to spy on them. the woman who lives in the facing building stands in the window and looks out on the street below her. she is corpulent, wears blue. she closes the thin shade over the closed window.

photocopie, légère frottement de stresse, conversation dans le jardin avec valérie. je m'en vais.

je descend le métro à st paul et flâne un peu dans le marais. ce soir, il y aura une nocturne pour l'exposition de photographie à la bibliothèque d'histoire de paris. je jette un coup d'oeil dans le café suédois, hanna n'est pas là. continuant, les belles choses me regardent depuis les fenêtres où elles sont posées. elles m'appartiennent, elles appartiennent instantanément à mes yeux, comme ma reflection appartient aux vitres quand je passe devant.

in the garden in front of the picasso museum, children play. i enter and sit on one of the green benches, under the chestnuts that have begun to bud. a black and white cat slinks in the bushes, he thinks no one can see him. a man reads his paper a few seats down, he smokes thoughtfully. it feels good to breathe deeply from the wide swath of near motionless air that hangs over the park, to sit on the wooden bench, and to not be cold, or warm, but just to be. i sketch the rooflines, read most of my book.

cook onions in olive oil, add mushrooms. salt pepper. butter, chicken. white wine. lemon. more salt. break crusty bread. the whole floor of this building smells like my dinner. outside, a bird sings.