I suppose I should first write that Montreal is beautiful. I've been busy since I got here, exploring the city . . . walking down the hidden alleyways . . . devouring the most delicious cuisine I've tasted in a long while. I met up with an old friend yesterday and spent the whole day speaking French and being shown the city's wondrous nooks. Additionally, Septimus has yet to show up, so I get to spend a little bit of me time, which is kind of what I wanted out of this trip. Hopefully, I'll get the same alone time in Chicago when I leave here for there on Saturday.
In other news, I've shopped to my fill. I picked up all these old books on philosophical theory . . . plus, a little fiction (in French) . . . you know, a little bit of Henri Bergson, Andre Gide, Denis Diderot, Gustave Flaubert. I think when I finally finish travelling for the holidays, I am going to hole up at home with all my literature and read for days.
Well, I'm off now . . . I'm going to pick up lunch at the cafe down the street from the inn I'm staying in. Writing makes me hungry . . . or maybe I was hungry to begin with? Either way, I'm going to enjoy these few days of self and introspection before I meet up with John and all of his relatives next Saturday.
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