Life at № 42 by E.M. Coutinho
The girls arrive next week. That’s excellent because their company does me a world of good. They don’t indulge angst- tortured by insomnia- pondering Dorothy Parker’s narrow house. Have I mentioned I found the narrow house? It’s hilarious. One door and one window. It’s on the same street as building II. I’m listening to Mexican music tonight; of the early 20th century variety. On Spotify, it’s free. Archbishop Canizares celebrated mass for General Franco yesterday. Shameless. I’m exhausted. My mind has been going off on its own- doing its own thing. Without my permission. I killed weeds today with my new flamethrower. Everyone I know unanimously agreed I shouldn’t have a flamethrower, but I got one anyway. I enjoyed using it. And no one died or was hurt today, so there. There.