I fell asleep. I woke up. Had a coffee. I didn’t leave the room.
Paris all about me.
I open the curtains. Look through the window. It’s cloudy out. Raining.
The penguins in the corner are mutely weeping. They ask me:
- Were you ever in Siberia?
- No, I tell them. No, but I do love snow.
I draw the curtains again. Switch on the light. I write a letter. The penguins stare at me, unblinking. I don’t like it, but do nothing. Actually, I try to cheer them up every time I finish a letter:
- My dear penguins, don’t be so miserable. We’re in Paris!
I spread some paté on the bread. Eat. I turn up the radio, turn out the light. In the twilight I hear the rain again, and the penguins breathing. I say nothing. A pleasant female voice from the radio gives a coy warning: “J’ai compris tous les mots, j’ai bien compris, merci.”