Le brouillard descende

I spent the whole day (after class, of course) today tucked away in a tiny café with an eclectic South American vibe and smooth jazz sung in English. The weather here seems impossible for the middle of summer: temperature in the fifties and an off-and-on drizzle all day long. The Parisians are dressed for full on winter in their boots, scarves, layered jackets, and even the occasional hat. My inner poet escaped escaped in the cozy café, and my journal entry for the day reflects my ponderings on the workings of French peoples' minds and why I've felt uneasy today. (I've decided it's because of the massive amounts of writing I've had to do for my culture and civ course and the general lack of sleep due to the noisy FIAP resident. I haven't made any breakthroughs on the French pensées, but I'll keep you posted.) I'm becoming a pro at drinking straight tea, and I may or may not have gone through four cups today. I didn't make any remarkable food discoveries, just my usual deliciously simple ham and butter baguette for lunch and some sort of FIAP fish for dinner. They were also serving andouillette (roughly translated to chitterling sausage) which thoroughly amused the British kids in the dining hall.