The painter has all these donkey that run after him, but he is silly enough to not get himself a horse at that point, but this is a side subject. Over all its just once more a night, where he comes with the entourage, and let me tell you, they all smell the same. So there is this Barti in front of me, the aristocat, with so well done hair that I ask if the parents are since generations Portuguese. Him raising the eyebrows so proud that next question is about the heritage, him saying yes yes. We talk a bit about academia, not really because I want but because he is sitting in front of me and keeps bla blaing, so sometimes I respond. Aristocat is saying, all the things him doing is quite complicate and I reply, yes I can imagine yes yes. What is him doing? Ah, equipment. So I say, as the Dolly would, ah so it's you we can blame for the ugly environment we are existing in? Ah, but I don't understand, well that's it, okay. Sorry. I think a moment about how he started the conversation and I assume I will end it that way, so I say, okay okay good night, sorry I didn't want to be interrupted, as you understand. Thank you sorry once more, bye bye. But then I am still just sitting on my chair, so he goes with saying that if he needed to guess where I am from he would say Sweden, but funny is that there was no need to guess, right? No need at all. Well he did anyways, good boy I am saying. But I do the smiling pretty good so somehow he still doesn't understand the wall between us. Naja. He can't hold himself back and says, he has never seen a person waring a dress over a trousers, and it's a shame, it's simply a shame, that I am no man, I am thinking one more time in my life. There is this beautiful song of Chris Watson, called The Lappish; I think you should look it up.