Eureka Street

All stories are love stories.

The human route to sympathy or empathy is a clumsy one but it's all we've got. To understand the consequences of our actions we must exercise our imaginations.

All stories are love stories

Mes rideaux sont ouverts et je regarde la nuit. Je viens de passer deux bonnes heures avec moi-même. Je ne me suis jamais senti moins seul. Il a plu et les gouttes d'eau sur les vitres brillent comme des perles de pacotille.

I turned on my heel and walked on. He had charm, sure, but it was so obscure. Before I got to the end of the street I heard him call after me. I stopped and turned round. He stood amidst a clutch of homegoing office girls. 'Hey, does your dick reach your arse?' he shouted thinly in the distance. Not yet, I thought, not yet.

(...) I knew I couldn't sleep with her. I don't know - in my small experience of women, I've found it to hard to sleep with them at such times. Times when you get impression that there's more to them than an opportunity. Sleeping with girls was great, sleeping with people was a bit more complicated. Maybe it was a bad thing, maybe a sign of my immaturity, but I knew that there was some kind of tenderness in it as well.