Night Notes

Having a beer on the train is completely normal here—everyone does it. The whole team crowds around a Mac at the agency and then pointedly looks away when someone types their password, like some collective act of honor that no one agreed to but everyone performs. I’m genuinely into girls with foreign accents, confirmed again last night. Photo Booth makes grown adults regress about fifteen years, no exceptions, myself first. I want to move to Warschauer Straße. My exes visit me in dreams on some kind of rotation schedule, like they’ve worked out a system. I need new headphones.

We’re going to Hurricane Festival. Someone keeps checking my professional profile online and it’s apparently people from Disney, which means either I’ve done something right or something catastrophically wrong. Drunk Chinese might be the funniest-sounding language in the world. I’ve been listening exclusively to bands whose names fall between A and D, which wasn’t a conscious decision but here we are. I ate a massive plate of nachos with cheese and chicken and I’m still hungry, which is its own kind of existential problem. Amy Winehouse was right about everything: you know I’m no good.