At the end of the lecture, a buffet opens. I suck the figues while looking at him. He’s not that hot, but he’ll do. He seems afraid of the daring attitude. I think for a second that my reputation as a young-trying-to-be intellectual in this city is at risk if I give away myself too easily. But I have a book to write, and I have always been really terrible at coming up with fiction. To experience the real is the only way I have found to be able to write or create. A sort of proof-of-concept to getting to know myself better, as my astrologist said.