the light laugh of priska degras in the morning. bask in her voice. multi-media exchanges on campus, then to laura's. clean her kitchen and the wide white table in front of the windows. spread out my papers and sketch an outline. turn on the news and immediately fall asleep. thirty minutes on the line six, watching the clouds sift sunlight onto the buildings and streets. a young father boosts his son up to look at the view as we cross the seine. critical theories with raymonde coudert, then noodle soup for dinner. laura insists we watch black swan. it is an uncomfortable film.

on the ride home, a man gets in a screaming match with some kids. they are all wrong. when they descend at république, i share a smile with the older version of me, reading the livres section of the paper with silver white lion hair all over the place

back pain in the night, i wake up and reach for nothing