David Duchovny in that CA show has serious problems – even in French

Many things. Mostly, my new roommates have been good and I have been watching french tv and passing the Edith Piaf statue, rugged and un paris-like, that sits in the modest square in my house in the 20th, a more working-class neighborhood that noone seems to like except for me. She holds her hands up to the sky, and every few days or so, some parisian puts something in them: a bouquet of old flowers, a parking metal sign, a child’s glove. I truly, truly love it, and when I walk home I imagine her holding me up to the grey and raining sky, and I feel as though this lack-of-livelihood malaise will pass.
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