Someone Left Latin on the Wall

The week had been unseasonably warm and then Sunday arrived with rain, which felt honest—like the preceding days had been running under false premises and finally gave up the act.

Friday meant Augsburg with the female half of my family: a car ride that sounded like a henhouse, followed by a few hours moving between the mall and the old town centre. I bought a jacket and some trousers. On the walk from the shopping centre toward the Innenstadt I found Latin graffiti on a wall, proper classical script on a concrete surface somewhere between a parking garage and a kebab shop. I stood there longer than the situation required. Someone else would have just kept walking.

I ate a tuna sandwich at a fast food place with a Soviet-Russian theme that was objectively absurd and surprisingly good. A student discount card I’d been ignoring for months finally earned its keep.

Ana had been around most of the week. We’ve developed a mutual dependency on an online drawing game—the kind where you sketch something and the other person guesses—and I’m genuinely unclear what this says about us except that we’re both competitive and don’t sleep at sensible hours. Becca came by Saturday. Sunday evening I finally made good on a long-promised walk around Türkheim with Irina, which ended with pizza that was properly loaded in the way pizza should be but often isn’t.

Sunday itself belongs to chemistry revision and Dickens for English class. Bah. Humbug.