transtrion

It's close to one, I'm slowly moving left and right in my bunk bed so as to make sure I'm sweating evenly across the mattress. Two chinese guys are showing their respective gadgets to each other, apparently amazed by the functionality of websites like dropbox and such. They're well annoying. I try to glance at them as hard as I can, even letting out my breath really hard to convey my annoyance. They don't seem to care. In Sweden people would have cared.

Victor wakes up, quickly turning his head left and right to find the thing that disturbed his rest. If you've known Victor for a while, which I have, you will eventually get to know his "the fuck" face. It's when he raises one eyebrow, often without opening the eyes, tilts his head to the side, and bends up his top lip in disgust. He does this, lets out a loathsome groan, turns around and goes back to sleep.

I think it's really funny, so much so that I forget there was something I had to ask him. Fuck! I need the toilet paper that's inside his safe.

I decide to go out on a limb and hope there's paper in the bathroom. It's a long shot, but it turns out today is my day. Nisse, who apparently is awake too, knocks on the door asking if I have the paper. I do. And i intend to keep it.

As I sit there, redecorating the ceramics, I think to myself that we had indian food today. For the first time in one month, except for a few franchised restaurant visits, we decided to stray away from the local cuisine and try something different. Isn't it ironic that after all the non-waterwashed salad, dried squid, fried chicken family, mashed snake, unidentified vegetables and semi-uncooked meat in general, the one time we actually have steaming hot chicken korma in a nice restaurant my guts turn themselves inside out?

At least the food was real good! Or "shit good" as we say in swedish.