Dining in

Although it’s unusual for the German to invite you for dinner, the way French understand it, meaning you arrive not too early, you start with aperitif and around 10:30 p.m, you’re thinking of asking your guests to join the table, I’ve been invited some times. Always by the same people and only once by a German. I still have to return the invitation I received but It’s only a bit complicated to organize it, as I would like some other people to join. Anyway, Friday evening went very well and It was no big stress. French food and red wine were in abundance and everyone enjoyed. Then around 4.00 a.m I finally reached my bed without being able to relax in a bar. It happened Saturday evening when my friend M. called, back from work, around 11.00 p.m. saying that we needed a drink as we hadn’t seen each other for a week and we have gossips to catch up. Outside the fact he cut his hair and has a new boyfriend, we started to drink outside under the gas heating (the city has the plan to stop them in order to preserve the air) to be able to smoke but soon It went too cold and we were quickly inside. We carry on drinking and decided at the closing of the bar to go to another place, where there is a dark room and a smoking area. I know I wouldn’t do anything in the place except chatting with people connected to M. Drinking more, listening to music we like, lucky us there is a juke box, we play pinball and then It’s getting too early and I want to go home. Coming in the place this time, there is many types of men but I have more fun in a bar making eye contact with guys as in a dark room where you just come here to have easy-no-talking-sex. Staying for a while at my table, 3-4 times the same guy comes to stare in front of me, another one is eating my cakes, freely given by the barman and a third one is sitting at my corner, talking too loud with himself. You have this tall guy opposite of the bar who comes across, maybe let’s say 10-15 times, while I was there, covering the music with the sound of his heavy boots, the one who plays the star trying to find a public taking off his tee-shirt and moving his bony ass from left to right, the one sat on the corner and can’t move anymore because he’s more liquid than solid, some who desperately make attempts to “conclude” and the more the night gets over, the less pretentious they are, and some other satellites, alone, smoking cigarettes trying not to look bored. Time to go home. Nothing will happen here.