…I used to work at this coffee shop at the airport and we a grill that I used as a heater in winter because it was so very cold at that airport. Anyways, I had to wash the dishes myself because the dishwasher was broken. I fucking hated it. I delayed it until the pile was dangerously huge. Anyways, we had tiny sky-blue towels and we dried them on the grill (that was one useful grill, trust me)and they got this strange smell because of it. I can’t compare it to anything, it was neither good, nor bad. I smelled it today on my hands and it was so weird. I realized that my whole experience in that coffee shop, a year and a half of stories, crying passengers, flirty pilots and curious foreigners, they all somehow fit into that scent, the scent of brokenness and long nights, walks and tears, nervous breakdowns behind the counter, chocolate cakes and Panini sandwiches, the scent of friendships and loneliness, the scent of breaking the rules, violating codes and playing forbidden soundtracks.

***

There’s this vibe about me. You know, I’m a redhead and the things you’ve heard about redheads — well, they’re pretty much true. And even if they weren’t — I can always act like they are, if you know what I mean. Again, that vibe — it drives guys crazy, they’re like “look at this girl, she’s so…oh.. passionate, she’s wild” and just as they’re about to crawl to my feet they suddenly remember they have their women. Maybe not as passionate, and definitely not as wild but, you know, loyal, sweet, non-vegetarian girlfriends who bake, read popular books and do an occasional blowjob when they’re in good mood. In return for cunnilingus, off course. Blowjobs don’t come easy in that sort of relationship. Anyways…

…I see pictures of people. Flying kites, slicing bread, walking on pavements of foreign countries. You know , those pavements have some weird vibe to them. It’s like, I don’t know, as if you’re walking on poetry and the tiles they spring you up and down and it’s so different from anything else. People do all these little things. And they’re so beautiful in those pictures. I don’t know what is it about these little moments. They’re not jazzy, not so very novel-worthy and yet most novels are exactly about these moments. Funny? You tell me…

***

Did you know that foxes bark?

Oh, I know that you get what I mean.