Late Train, Strange Faces

Irina dragged me through all of Turkheim for an hour—cold, dark November, the kind of evening that makes you question your choices. The compensation was spaghetti with tomato sauce and sausages, and According to Jim on her big plasma TV. Fair exchange.

Afterward I helped Ana with Latin—bookmark that sentence, it won’t come up often—and installed a newer browser for her. By ten it felt like two in the morning. She walked me halfway to the train station, where some genuinely strange people congregate at that hour. The kind you don’t acknowledge.

Things are slowly arranging themselves. I finished a whole German exercise book yesterday; today is French Revolution. Ana is going to help me with Spanish and maths in exchange, which means I’m already in debt. Becca and I are settling into something more open and honest, which feels better than the alternative. The graduation prep is pulling everyone tighter. I’m not complaining.