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  • 03.12 a.m. Four more hours to go. The head is heavy. Coffee gave me that usual green color and is making my hands shake on the keyboard.

    Tonight fuck all happened.

    I start growing restless so I eat a hot croissant that has just been delivered hiding from the CCTV. Being on minimum wage in Paris makes you hungry.

    Just as I start thinking that my job would be shite if it wasn’t for Hendrix playing "Little Wing" on the radio, the night gives me a present.

    A head peaks in from the door. The first thing I notice is the latex rain coat, then the heavy make-up and the lifted finger of an abnormally big right hand.

    The music in the background is grossly mismatched, or maybe weirdly appropriate.

    What I first thought was a woman wants directions towards rue Brancion. I notice that under that rain coat there is way too much skin exposed and a flaming bra. I cringe while giving her, him, fuck knows, directions.

    As she turns around and leaves I stare with repugnance at her old man’s arse held together by fishnet stockings and garter belts, but Jimi - gentleman he is -escorts her kindly to the door.

    "Fly on little wing.."

    There must be a bondage party in residential Plaisance and I was not invited, how rude.
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