Day 8 (concluded)

            That girl didn't answer but I had a great time at the punk squat.

            This Welsh emo band Arteries played a good set during which I saw a French punk lady beat up this guy who'd pissed her off somehow. Not long after, they talked for a minute, then danced together, then she beat him up again! Repeat whole process twice until some guy put the other dude in a headlock and threw him out. The lady who beat him up drunkenly flashed her tits at the band at the end and I told her "you are the best person here" and she said "I don't know about that" so I said "the biggest bad-ass then" and she said she'd accept that. She was the first person I'd talked to all night.
            Since I hadn't paid when I arrived, I gave the venue 5 Euros at the end and they forced me to take 2 beers in exchange. I gave one to the guy who'd put the other one in a headlock. He was really appreciative and as usual used me as a chance to practice his English. He told me of a punk show at 3 PM in a park tomorrow, maybe I'll go to that, the show at this squat, or this show on Sunday I got a flyer for, featuring "Black Shabbat."
            I called that girl again, no answer again. Walked home. Literally all I want to do out of the apartment at night is play or go to shows or hang out with hot women. Came home feeling like a lonely loser, remembered all the times I've been awkward and boring. Remembered how dumb I am and how, once I joined the neurotypical race, I became just an idiot rather than an idiot savant. I'm no longer better than the rest at anything. I'm just a good singer and songwriter, also artist, director, and improviser. I'm also good at getting to the root cause of a problem quickly. That's it though.
Wrote sad songs on Guilhem's guitar. Nothing is more intrinsically fulfilling. I miss playing late at night, the old men I live with in Boston don't let me make noise after 10ish. I should move, but literally no other apartment would let me move in.