Talk No Evil... Do No Evil...

He cooked me dinner. He made salmon with sauce oseille, coupled with steamed leeks, and sided with frisée and smoked duck. We were like strangers. He talked to his best friend almost the whole night. I oscillated between calm and hysteria.

There are things better left in the dark. When the lights come on, the earth trembles. The bodies seem unreal and the story becomes legend. The legend creates fear.

But my tongue is loose.

Sunday night I ruined my most favourite of all white jackets with an ill-advised rainy scooter ride, and splashing around wine. It's ruined. There's nothing, not even bleach, that can work wonders for it. The white will never be white again. I wore it in the dark night. Drunk, stoned, stumbling, and disgusted at politics, the stains were bearable. This morning, the thing is a disaster.

It's early now and the sound outside is of someone hammering a roof, cars passing, and the occasional motorbike. Everytime I close my eyes for a few more minutes of sleep I get a panic attack.

Does it really happen?

I was a queen on Friday, a deflated dinghy on Saturday, a melancholy giraffe on Sunday, a bat-winged terror-stricken ant on Monday. It's Tuesday now. When will the shrinking stop?