The girl in green trips down the escalator and cuts her knee. It bleeds a little and her friends scream. I can’t remember where exactly I lost my mind. Apparently sanity, like true love, is hard to find. Seeing is believing and I am blind. I might well have lost it here: Kings Cross: no apostrophe: where the streets are mean and the people are mean(er). All the gear and no idea. I have nowhere to be and no one to see. Well, I was meant to party with a drag queen but he’s pulled a sickie. I must stop praying to a God who doesn’t believe in me. The Eurostar is tempting. Montmartre in the morning. Drunken dreaming. Men on a stag-do whistling, grinning, leering. Misery hates company but danger becomes me. Where I end up this evening remains to be seen. For now, for right now, it’s just me and Chablis and Sarrazin. (Patti gave me Albertine for free).