The word that comes to mind is glauque, because I have been reading French all day, and because glauque is the sound of the raindrops dripping (the raindrips dropping) glauque-lauque-auque into the drainpipe in the courtyard outside.

It was grey this morning, and it is grey now, and wet. I opened the cylinder of Paris tea to the scent of blackcurrant and vanilla, which made me smile; Leiris’s essay “Perséphone” will smell like this for a while also.



It’s a good feeling getting back to work after taking the weekend off. Yesterday evening, off Bedford, on the street with the purple girl, there were wines and salads and cheeses at Schmio’s. She sure treats us good, that Schmio, what with even the tea at the end to prevent grey hairs. Cozy, comfy, just the way we like it, and samba in the air, thanks, Maud, for the compile.



Everyone who is a girl likes a girls’ night, even if (or ’specially since) Jason says it sounded like a Hillary Duff movie. Like girls, we dropped forks, we dropped knives, we tried to translate obscure poetic discursive French texts. Like girls, we laughed and laughed, and then we laughed some more.