A perfect summer day spent drinking iced coffee with Arit, who leaves for Paris tomorrow. Soon, almost all my girlfriends will be gone. Coffee won’t be the same without them.
There was a bombing in Kabul on Monday, of an internet café that is patronized by Westerners. Atomic is there now, and I am resigned to the fact that I will worry about her for the next six months.
The waitress at the local diner gave me a flower on Sunday night. She had run out of plastic bags, so I rode my bike home with my poutine balanced on one hand and a carnation between my teeth. Yes, that was me.
After careful review, I have decided to terminate the experiment. Findings: inconclusive.
Low: 17 °C