An
approximate week has passed and not much has changed except the godforsaken
weather; Aix is still the expensive, bitchy town it always was but with added sky
tears. I get an overwhelming sense of both nostalgia and deep shame when I hear
rowdy Brits soiréeing round town lowering the tone of
the neighbourhood with such patriotic expertise, but it’s not quite as bad as
that Chinese guy I met the other day (imagine this conversation in flawless
French):
Me: So what
do you think of Marseille?
Obzxhjdkf:
It’s a very dirty city.
Me: Oh
yeah, unsurprising because of all the pollution and litter.
Obzxhjdkf:
No, because of all the dirty Africans and Arabs.
Me (in
another braver dimension): Fucking headcase
If I don’t
see him again I’ll assume he found himself at the wrong end of a Provençal firearm, but I did my best to redirect his urban fate. Speaking of
Chinese and ignorance, my classes this week have been offensively difficult and
FOR SOME REASON (?!?) no one seems sympathetic to the fact that not only am I dire
at both French and Chinese but also terrifically lazy. But who cares about
that, what matters is that I am still embarrassingly friend-deficient (wot a scandal) so Suhan and Joe had to drop by to curb my social neediness and
I ended up at a sick reggae festival accidentally eating some beautiful paella
and aforementioned mystery hash rendering me a convulsing, chortling mess on the
floor. A true assassin de la police. I’m gonna go now and make some ratatouille
like the movie but from a tin.
Baguettes-ho
