The homeless and me we went out and then we got a bit drunk, because there was an incredible amount of red wine and a terrible performance with naked feet. I waited for him in front of the toilet, because I got parked there with a Turkish woman which told me things about her baby, but baby is already 10 or 20 I don't remember. next to us expressive woman with a red coat and fur at the end of the coat, she is offensively listening but no part of conversation. Something [time] happening, and at one point we all stand together: the chair, the other sweet little one / too little to be liked / and the fancy woman that got projected here from the early 20'. The homeless says, ah ah she is an AI and I think that exactly it is, so we do a little joke, but I assume we both are feared, not of her, but of the truth that she is apparently submitting. but it's not about us. she says, she is a second or third or first immigrant to America, in the end we never know. she says, her parents are from Transylvania, and honestly, she looks like from there, too. later, one week later to be precise, I meet her again. she says she wants to be perceived as soul, but in English that means that she wants to be admired, and she deserves it! because she is a beautiful writer, a deep soul, with wounds, that she clearly enjoys to lick. So far I don't know if she wants other so lick them as well, but I am fine with the enigma. The séparée is something quite specific, asks a lot of questions to see how the light is. She undresses people, but to welcome them home. She doesn't share because she is a sad soul, but she expresses, which is yet quite beautiful. All shallow words, in the end I think the image is giving. a mix of burlesque, a great handwriting, a typewriter, a poem, a tea, a tenderness, a softness that arises from shyness. all that is pretty cool, but we both do chicken dance, not because of me, but because séparées are made for walz.