Decadence in Paradise

On the kitchen counter is a paper bag full of garbage: pomegranate and orange peels, old bread, nutshells, coffee grounds, rotten olives, used tea bags, and some moldy cheese remains. It leaks, and maybe it smells, but I can't tell because it's been resting there for about a week, and I might've gotten used to the smell. The sink is full of dirty dishes, and strangely they seem to be getting dirtier and dirtier. It could be the coffee grounds that smudged it all and clogged the sink. It ended in there when I rinsed my coffee pot. What ever. There are nuts on the ground and sand from the beach. I spread all my clothes all over the bed for a week, so when I go to bed and get under the blanket, I pull with it over me some dirty t-shirts too, but that's just perfect because it gets a bit cool at night and the blanket is not thick enough to keep me warm.

I can't find any fuck to give, so no cleaning has happened in this flat for about a week soon. If the owner walked in, she'd get a stroke or heart attack. I told her last week one of the windows behind the bed doesn't close properly. She kinda ignored me,... OKAY.

I'm hanging out with some ladies tonight. I laughed so much; it felt almost like an abs workout. This german lady Katia, I told her I like Trezor, and she said: oh, too many kids in there, my son goes there, If I go there I will bump into him. And starts laughing, and she whispers to me: "He's 23 years old".

Okay. The music changed. A nice piano drops its notes into my ears slowly, gradually, gently soft. I like it.