she always wanted to end up at the top (of the building>>>the 12th floor). instead she always ended up just a floor lower (the 11th floor). but it wasn't the 10th floor anyway.
and then just smoking that last one cigarette she said:
and then just smoking that last one cigarette she said:
"i have a list. yes, i have it. it's just a list. yes, life's not a list. but i have a list. and this list. yes, this list makes me know what i like. the list has numbers on it and names. you know what i mean, yeap, you do. so. so this list. yes, this list, i talk about. i checked it some days ago. and on this list i could see what i like. like the most viewed. the most overviewed kinda man. it's not what i like. it's actually what i like without knowing that i really like it. cause i read all these magazines and they tell me what i like. but what i actually really like, well that's on the list. on this list. and this list told me so:....ok, i'll just put it out. so next time you know. it's like a top 3.
on the first position there's the french talking persons. i hate french, but i somehow end up with frenchie talking this miserable language. or listening to their stupid poems. and their cuisine experiences. that’s better than the poems. it has all this fantastic words. if we also have little red wine then i sometimes reach the perfect rhythm and can hold on with the conversations, but it feels like vomiting… unbelievable, but they're on the top. the frenchies. it’s always good sex. so even if you vomit, you get it. the real thing.
i won’t go on. sounds just boring. doesn’t it? me and my stupid list. he!”.
she stops for a few seconds just to ask for another cigarette, and, yes, like always, she gets it.
“ok. let’s take now number 24 for example. it’s long before, but number 24 is something. i felt like i’m gonna die when i left this guy. no, of course he wasn’t french. and we didn’t have so much red wine. we had beer, lots of beer. and we ate a lot together. almost every day. so when i left him i felt like i’m gonna starve. but i didn’t. and long after that i found another man, who cooked for me. and I felt safe again. i felt: God, looks like there’s hope out there! and the new cook didn’t ask for spending the night over. so we just ate. ate almost every day together. ah, yes, yes…it’s funny, i know, but this new cook was french speaking. he was a frenchie. unbelievable! no, he’s not on the list. he has no number…now don’t ask why, i’ll just tell you. yes, you see, you got it: we didn’t spend any night together. and if we did, we just slept. the thing is he also speaks english. that’s the thing. maybe if he wouldn’t, he would be now on the list. weird, no? it’s all a matter of languages. maybe i’ll still get the new cook on the list. maybe if he forgets his english. i don’t know. things just happen. maybe i should put them all on a list. all the things. maybe.
i want someone to find the list one day and have the impression they just know my life. they’re gonna feel i shared my life, but you know what, i just didn’t give it all away.”
she finally smiles. yellow teeth. beautiful lips. wonderful eyes.
“the thing is that i enjoy being alone. that’s why i have this list. to prove that i was never alone, so i can be alone now. i enjoy being alone so much that sometimes it hurts. but then i just put the list in front of me. and i know i’m not alone. i made this list. just for me.”
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