I do not know what everyone else does with their time if they’re not planning meals, shopping for food, cooking meals, or eating them. I wish I understood what banalities these people filled their lives with.
I get the impression that some people only indulge in their “normal” because everyone they have grown up around has done so, and so they take it as the sole option. That’s grotesque.
A shadow cast by the moon on the face of Mars is our guide through the understory. It is a marker on our divergent paths.
I dream of fantastic patés, bought wrapped in paper from the local charcutier, but then I shop in the local Monoprix, scared to set foot in artisanal shops.
It has always been put down as “one of those things” that a lot of Weezer’s albums are called Weezer; it has always drawn me in that these albums exist.
Paris is a question I simply do not know how to pose. Grime and gold; reality and perception; vaping shops and tourist tat.
If I were in a Michelin starred restaurant, surrounded by all of the opulence and decadence which modern fine dining affords, and the option of a Full English Breakfast were to be offered, I would not hesitate to order it.