It had been years since I burdened the sun with my bare flesh. We were both a bit awkward and shy about it. I forgot protection (I'm older now, thicker skin) but went ahead with it anyway, clearly ending in a painful burn. Not bad like the time in 6th grade (I can't forget), but not entirely good. Well actually, in certain dim lighting it's golden and I look like a statue. Anyhow, the cats ended up sensing my pain and discomfort. I assume they could smell the crisped skin and sandy mix, giving them a horrible hunger. I tried reasoning with Oliver, but he scratched the shit out of my arm, I think trying to kill me. Before cleaning the cut or crying, I managed to snap a picture. I live in a house with flesh eating monsters, marking their territory with urine, marking my territory with urine. What does it all mean?
Topic shift, yes the beach was topless, and no I'm not mature enough for that degree of hilarity.
Outside of France, I've started a new "creative project" (ugh, tasteless) with Tom for the summer.
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