No smoking.

No matter how much I try I always end up picking up a taxi to get to the airport. Pretty stupid because it ends up being at least nine times more expensive, but that's my way of doing. Always a little bit late, always a little bit on a rush. Once I got to the airport all the nerves slowed down. I don't know why airports make me feel comfortable, they make me feel like home. It might be because I know exactly all the procedures I have to go through when I'm there. All the airports in the whole world are quite alike and it's very difficult to get lost. Also, it seems to me nothing can go wrong in an airport. Of course that's not exactly true, but I sense our sensitiveness doesn't care very much about what's true and what's false.

My flight was on delay because it was snowing in Geneva (luckly I've got my boots). I hate it when flights are late, but I ran into Bayo and all the awaitingness felt lighter. I think they should really allow you to smoke on the airports, at least at some places, otherwise it gets boring, and it looses the melancholy of the going-aways and the coming-backs. Sneaking out to smoke in the bathroom is absolutely disgraful and I absolutely don't do that anymore.

Finally on the plane I was taught how to open the emergency exit because the flight attendant considered she should leave me in charge of it (it was actually because I was sitting right next to it, but I like feeling smart in some kind of way). I had the most amazing flight. When we were almost in Geneva the sexy voice from the captain advised us to look at our rights. The peak of the Montblanc was coming out of the carpet of clouds. I don't recall having seen anything like this in my entire life. It truly made me cry, I felt like I had to pay an extra charge for the amazing sight-seeing (am I making up this word?).

Xavier was too kind and picked me up at the airport. I can't tell wether the percentage of excitement by seeing him again after at least a decade was higher than the weirdness I was feeling. It's like meeting someone new that you've met before in a dream or something. He drove me 'home' on his scooter (my luggage surprisingly fitted), and I must say I was a bit scared considering the big case in front and all the snow.

The apartment is wonderful. Parquet floor and a lot of heat to keep outside the cold. Forbidden to smoke unless I do it through my window, which turns out fine because I get to think and do nothing else but thinking while I hang my head out during my cigarettes. That's exactly what I was doing when I took those pictures. Thinking what time do swedish people consider 'afternoon' so I wouldn't call Alexander too soon nor too late.