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.
Don't underestimate short moments of care and appreciation with strangers. In the long run, you might realize that these memories mean more than the illusion of depth with relatives.