6.10.2025

In (on?) this cul-de-sac there's at least one illegitimate restaurant. Could be many but that's none of my business. I was craving biryani so I ordered some and what the heck some lemon mint lassi too, was delighted to see on the app that it was being prepared by one of my new neighbors. I pulled the curtain aside: pretty sure it's that building right there. Unpacked some of my stuff, took a shower. Hottest day of the year and I'd spent it moving my possessions across town, from one dark basement apartment to another. My Parisian-Algerian cab driver was very talkative and we covered a lot of topics on the way. His main concern is with how rude and selfish everyone is here. We bonded when our route was impeded by a pop-up road construction crew, about thirteen workers in clean fluorescent vests standing around and looking into a hole, one supervisor type gesturing toward the hole with authority. The cab driver told me a joke - a blague, do you know - yes, I know blagues, I told him. A bunch of people at some generic worksite are standing around and it turns out nine of them are chefs (bosses) and they're all waiting for the one person who does the work to show up. He pulled a traditional wooden flute (gasba?) out of the glove compartment. This is what he plays. Through some linguistic alchemy (English-French-solfege) we agreed that its tuning was in G but I have my doubts. Anyway at the new apartment it was time to pick up my biryani and then I called and it sounded like the lady was in a noisy apartment and she said my order was cancelled and I said that's too bad I bet your food is delicious and she hung up.