As I told a friend over the phone last night: at least, one end of the hanging bridge is attached to moorings: I know I’m leaving this apartment. The other end of the bridge still swings in the wind. eh.
Considering this friend’s less than comfortable personal situation, she liked the metaphor.
Lunch. Much withered but sober, the man walked into l’ibère and shared my table. The shadows must play just right on his face to pick out the seam that runs from above his right ear to the bony ridge above his right eye. Said bony ridge saved his eye. His pelvis won’t mend any more than it has so far. The meds he takes insure he doesn’t “prime the pump” as he says i.e. doesn’t go on total benders. Now that he’s settled into new digs, he should receive his electronic bracelet any day now. The man eats with his knife as well as with his fork, and talks with his mouth full. His manners reflect both the roughness of his upbringing and of jail-related learning. But without a snort full and the anger that goes with it, he’s an interesting person and a remarkable artist.
Another scorcher in the making today. Visited a decent apartment yesterday – but do I want a landlord the real estate agent described as “unbearable”? Can I afford all the fees, deposits, etc? Do I want to pull together documents proving my financial more-or-less solvency, plus employer references, only to get turned down because the landlord has aspirations for the occupants of his apartments? Aspirations so lofty, the building stands empty despite the renovations, and the real estate agent despairs to see her commission, some day.
Visiting something else this morning where, I’m sure, lofty aspirants need not apply. Meanwhile, is the Gaillac job option totally closed or not? Mystère for now, friends in Gaillac pursue the inquiry today.
Story proceeds along the jumbled paths.