it’s almost eleven and i tried to text the guy but inadvertently i opened the camera in my phone instead. the camera was trained on me and i saw someone as resigned to waiting as bathsheba while being bathed in the louvre’s famous rembrandt.
i used to think i’m never cut out for this. this sitting up, expecting for stuff, good stuff, to just happen, this waiting. but come to think of it, who is?
i am always partial though to french movies. you know, the type, wherein nothing really happens for a long, long time and then in the 1 hour and 45 minute mark, something starts to stir and then three minutes later the movie ends.