wearing a denim shirt from Target state-side and MAC Russian red.
Rearranging my studio to feign some semblance of progress. I miss the safe feeling of having friends I can call to join me for a drink and chain smoking. I need a pick me up; it's hard to fathom, but it's difficult to meet stylish and fun people in Paris. Maybe I'm not looking hard enough or some shit. I feel like a phantom and it's a big fat fucking fear that I will spend the next year or two alone in this tiny box of a flat just watching American sitcom re-runs and obsessively cutting my split ends, only venturing out to buy baguette and nouilles asiatiques at monoprix.