10:36 p. m. » Another Day...

Let yesterday's date be remembered as the one that involved my receiving a phone call from Cecile at eight in the evening, asking me, who was currently occupied with a just-bathed half-naked four year-old, to come down to the street because the police had stopped her for stealing a shopping cart from a store located about two miles from our apartment. If you're wondering why she didn't just take a taxi, the tram, the metro, or the bus (all very convenient) for carrying her things (which included two bags and a small plastic shelf) like the rest of the city does, especially considering the previously told-about 36 year-old 22 year-old was in her company -- so am I. After speaking with the police officer, using excuses such as "sorry, it's just that I'm so... short" (though her friend, who's now been confirmed as being as tall as me, remember, was at her side), for a nevertobediscovered reason, she made it my responsibility to take the cart to its home. This involved my pushing an empty shopping cart over what were some of the most ragged sidewalks I've ever walked, then along one of the two most main avenues, down which the tram also runs, in the entire city of Barcelona, the second largest city in Spain, while practicing in my head how to apologetically explain to the police that I lived with a very sick woman who had somehow managed to escape my watch and run a goddamn shopping cart halfway across the city. Luckily, I was not stopped by another officer, though upon returning the cart I was given a mouthful from a Catalesian oldie, in exchange for which I offered the same manners I give the homeless freaks who habitually play the (plastic) fucking flute outside my apartment. Finally, after returning home, Cecile, laughing and nearly drunk already, told me I could keep the 1€ deposit. I then went out and spent it on jelly beans -- which had to have been years old.

This is the kind of shit I'm talking about.

 7:55 p. m. »  Sleep Out

But what of your precious red balloon?