Yesterday afternoon Paul came by and I was able to sit down with him and have lunch with this head half-shaven, goatee-growing, scarf-wearing, rings-and-other-jewelries-adoring, rock'n roller with black nail polish. He's such a great guy, with always a big smile on his entire face, and everyone in the neighborhood seems to know him. Many people points at his picture on the wall and says, 'Paul! I know him!' But if you don't know him, not to despair, there's always one person you know on the wall. Me.
I went downstairs to get my book from the store in the middle of the night. In front of the store, it seems that a purse is hanging from a bicycle, which I thought was my neighbor Nora's. A purse. Like a shoulder bag. I was puzzled. I looked around. Nora is nowhere in sight. I waited a few more seconds, thinking she'll be bursting from the building any minute. No. I had to take it before someone else takes it. I looked in the bag and found a check book. It was Nora's. I thought it's kind of late to go knocking on her door, especially if she still hasn't come down, she hasn't noticed it was missing anyway. Or is she not in the right frame of mind right now? I decided to leave a note in her mailbox.
You don't know how happy I am that my weekend is here. Just a few more days of work before my vacation.