Its 1.36am, the stereo is shouting loud as I'm quietly doing random stuff on the computer. Paul is snoring in an armchair with the mac open on his lap and the cat lying on his chest, idly staring at some geeky tutorial (the cat, not Paul). The wall in front of me is left half-painted and a hump of broken glass has hastily been swept up under the radiator.
Things have been rushing since last week. In no time I went from the young graduate still(!) living at his parents' to some individual based exactly where Schaerbeek is written in Google Earth. Finding this was a scientific mix of a) my (by now) indisputable human qualities, b) the help of a girl with red lips and large hands and c) a zest of mazel tov as well.
Anyway, I guess I will soon be referring to this place as "my flat" or simply "home" rather than "where I live" or "at Paul's", and say that I "live in Brussels" in the most assured fashion.
Bonsoir bande de peyes.
