Michael is being a rebel without a cause, as I say he shouldn’t. It’s too silly with his black leather jacket. Especially with that hair of his. What is he thinking? When he was writing his entry, I was reading Murakami. Sputnik Sweetheart. A woman walked past us, looking confused, but not minding us. She stepped over my second rate pastries and smiled. She had thick ankles.
Now Michael’s singing endearments to the wall. I don’t know if he’s making up the song, but I doubt it. He says it’s from the internet.