Last night I went to a party (wow! cool! paaaaarty!). Of course I was invited by my British banker buddy Paul. This party was actually a going away party for two of the flatmates because they are leaving Paris to join the Peace Corps and work in China. I don’t even either.
Anyway, Paul is a weird dude, but I like him. He likes me too; probably because I am weird kid. Also, our mutual liking is purely platonic- I’m not going to date a middle aged British banker. Actually, I have no clue how old Paul is. But when Paul and I were smoking on the balcony (deal with it, I’ll stop smoking when I get back to the less tobacco tolerate United States), he said to me that I live in my own wacky cloud. He also told me to never lose that; that’s what makes me special. I like to think he meant good special and not bad special.
Also, the people whose apartment I crashed at last night were Americans and they know someone who I know of at Simmons. Neither of us particularly like this person. Someone from Florida meets someone from New Jersey in Paris and they both know someone who goes to school in Massachusetts. I don’t even either.