It seems so unfair.

In summer, Paris has daylight until 10:30. New york can stretch it most to 9:30. In winter, it’s now December, new york say goodbye to sunlight at 4:30. And Paris is still having her magic hour at 5:00. I can’t think why. I thought New York is in higher altitude than Paris.  But for all I am concerned, I could love Paris a bit more just for these extra one hour daylight.

Yes I am in Paris. Sitting acorss a tiny street, rue des Francs Bourgeois, from Archives Nationales outside of a coffee shop.

I had too much caffeine intake.

I am more of a tea person. Caffeine burns my nerves. My hands would shake like a seasoned alcoholic. It’s almost impossible in Paris not to drink coffee. And then it makes me think of cigarattes. I don’t smoke either.

I have been drinking one cup of coffee per day. It’s nothing for most people but that keeps me awake and can only get minimal sleep.

The situation of the room I stay in didn’t help either. I stay at a friend’s friend’s flat. I shouldn’t complaint cause it’s free and it’s in central Paris near Republique. But the guy probably hasn’t lived in that place for awhile. It’s dampy and dark. The sheet is yellowish,  the comforter and the pillows are dampy. There’s nothing but a futon on the floor and a short table which you have to sit on the floor to be able to get to it. There’s no heating system. Only a fan blowing out warm air in an unsteady  state. I felt like I had fallen back to my college life perhaps some 15 years ago.

While I was out in a coffee shop in Montmartre with my friend Teona, she ordered a hot chocolate. I thought that was a great idea, decided I should order that as well thereafter. But then just now after  I sit down and checked out the menu, I saw French Coffee. Which is cognac with coffee. I couldn’t  resist it. So there I downed another full glass of caffeine.

When the order arrived, it was filled in a wine glass topped with whipped cream and 2 decorative coffee beans. It looks like a screaming festive sundae. I was trying to pretend all masculine and virile. But the effort was instantly failed by that thing sitting on my table.

And it cost me eight euros. As the comedian Catherine Tate would say, ‘dirty, robbing bastards.’