Tucked

For the next three weeks, my days were long. Sunrise at the Old Port, work hours at Génoise et Thé, sunset in my un et demi, and twilight in labored sleep.

My writing was fruitless. Many words typed in the long Word file, not much said. I toiled at the keyboard and flipped through the books in my room, hoping for something to change. A welcome addition to my new routine was the coffee machine thrown out by a student in my building. I drank cup after cup, took stroll after stroll, smoked cigarette after cigarette. I was not satisfied, not yet.