I left with a numb buttcheek after chilling 45 minutes on the stone floor bumming internet. Hopped on a metro that was steamier than a hammam, then folded down the flip-up chair in a full train car. It's okay because I'm a cripple. While everyone else pondered their existence in the Moroccan Baths tour of the Paris underground, I slept retardedly until I was woken by a fat man's fart an inch from my nostril. Quelle chance, my stop.
Got home, passed out. Three hours later woke up high, hungover. Hadn't smoked or drunk, culprit: nap. Now to start work.
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