cravings

cotton and perfume

where can i go in paris for a crispY* delicate elegant glass of white wine and a slovenly lascivious edacious greedy portion of hummus and pita?

of course i can diy this experience on my lonesome with a trip to the kebab shop and a very fancy cave a vins, but i think i need the combo delivered to me by a really grumpy french waiter. this is about as hedonistic as i get, chasing something sensory from my imagination. like when i go into a perfume store and ask them if they have anything “enigmatic, but approachable, like a gap ad with lauren hutton.” and they look at me like girl wtf what notes do you want and i’m like “mineral, but warmer than that. plum but not fruity. etc.”

for someone with no taurus in their chart I spend a lot of time thinking about luxury cotton and really clingy, buttery spaghetti sauce.

maggie and chloe being in town will make me more normal btw. i’ve just been incubating my already weird personality and after 2 months of just doing whatever i want i’ve really lost “the plot” but i am super free.

it’s hard to care about internet discourse/ i want to talk on the phone for 4 hours. and overshare about someone kissing my ears.

*the two people i have said this to have rejected this descriptor for wine. certainly i mean crisp. but no, the -y affixed to the end means something different to me, closer in feeling to the australian invention of the word “selfie.” i do not want a glass of wine like the self. i want one like the selfie. i want one that tastes like a cloud, or a dream.