Christian giving presentation to us in a roof area standing on some kind of structure, wearing a yellow hat. Yellow Light through glass. Someone’s mom. “Well, that’s all” he said bashfully, before swinging down on a rope.

Dragon head, elevator, dry pool with leaves, hot jacket made of plastic. Fixing something on jacket. Red. Waiting for the others. Cantilevered platforms.

Woke up early, made a big breakfast and did duolingo. Took Alexis’ bike back to Fabrica.

Re-edited my prototype video and added music. Much better now.

I walked in the sun, Jenny’s bike repair was only €6. I rode it back to Treviso in record time, not wanting to get off and write a message saying I’d be late. I was only 5 minutes late.

I wrote to Shunsuke asking to hang out, after we had matched on Tinder over a year ago, when I was on trial for Fabrica. We had a short conversation then, about shoegaze and art projects. I liked his tattoo that says: “Born to lose.” I was on the bus home from Venice, after my adventure with C, and I was like “I should do more things.”

He happened to be coming through Treviso, back from Barcelona. He had a red jacket and a gold chain. Dense silver hoops. Black skinny jeans. I carried his luggage up our four flights of stairs. He asked how much I thought it might weigh “40 pounds?” I have no idea what that means, it’s 21 kilos.” “I have no idea what that means.”

We had a walking-beer and a pizza and a getting-to-know-you-chat that outlived the pizza’s heat. He’s from Japan, spent time there and in the US, was in IT, living a double life writing grafiti at night. Moved to Venice to study glass blowing. Got a girl pregnant in Europe sometime before that, which he told to me after much hesitation. It’s true that my opinion of him was lowered (re, “I’m just doing what I want” lifestyle). Apparently he had tried to make it work.

I told him things here and there – brief gig as vegan chef, neuroimaging lab in Australia, everything as fake and dysphoria. He mentioned that on my instagram there was a picture with someone’s butt in Lad Musician. Yes, that’s my sibling, the taper and seaming on Lad pants are so good and they age beautifully. He said “you know a lot!” We talked about fashion. We walked to Bottegon, he pulled me into him, away from a car.

We sat close together, drank two spritz hugo, went back to my place, said hi to Nicolas and Alexis, smoked on the trash-porch. He questioned himself on whether what he was doing was art, asked me if I knew how he could get his work into the world. We stood sort of close. It felt sort of sweet.

In my room he said he probably wouldn’t catch the train. I said I had two beds. He kissed me in that entitled masculine way. It was fine.  I said “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone with a beard.”

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