Friday /lounge/ night...

snorting half a gram of some cheap cocaine alone in my small apartment, full of disgusting glass & steel European furniture, I turn on my high-fidelity compact disc player and insert one of the most exceptionel singles of my generation: Ella, elle l'a, by France Gall; nothing else could get me back on the rails at this point and things are getting weird, so I turn up the volume to 10 and try to concentrate myself. I put just a little bit on the mirror and try to make another line.. *KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK* what?? who the fuck, I'm waiting no one. Fuck. I go to the door and look throught the peephole: it's Inès! w-why?.. I run to my room and take my vintage hat. Toc toc toc. I put the hat and run to the door again, my heart is beating so fast and hands are sweaty -God, how pathetic I am-

<me> Who is it?

_{^{(I think I am talking too fast, am I talking too fast?)}}

<she> uh, Inès, your neighbor. Can you please turn down the music?

_{^{I open the door...}}

to be continued

Not interested.