Is this the life?

So after labouring through a day of what are now fairly bog-standard reaching motions it was out to the bank and of to the metro to entertain friends over glasses of wine and sincere conversation on such typical Parisien topics as women, love and romance and employment, promotion and laboral fuck-ups.

It was hardly the melée of drunken revelry I've become accustomed to enjoying on those regular forays to the bars of odeon, Belleville, and grands boulevards but then some restraint is called for after living a blur of frantic activity the week before around the Latin quarter, Bastille and Montparnasse... Teaching pays the bills but it's the social excitement that gets me flowing, yawping and feeling the intense tension, the groups and challenges of my eternal infiltration quest; Brigitte says I'm a sensitive youth, touched by human kindness and in no need of the harpies, the wretched urchins, but I'm eager to run and skate to some unknown destination, just moving, gazing through the window portals of my eyes alon the way, regarding the fast moving shapes and the constantly changing visages of my friends and acquaintances as I hurl through on my way in one solo direction. Ahead, don't stop or you'll stagnate in your own filthy existence, strive for more, never settle, ever. There's always a new highway or a drunken embrace awaiting around the next corner and that strange intrigue that draws me to the people who hover near my sphere of conscience and they to me in equal measure.

Rape your comfor barrier permanently and never repent your passionate explosions, fly free Icarus, without the sun you would no legend be!