#greatdiscontent

Oliver Jeffers discussing New York City’s allure with the Great Discontent.

#day98 "Voulez-vous couche avec moi?" "Do I like cous cous?" "No, voulez-vous couche AVEC moi?" "Whaaat? No, never. What kind of approach is that?" I was sitting on the stone fence in front of Sacre Coeur, waiting for Elsa and Oscar, sipping my water. It was bright although it was 22.00. Days were long in Paris. I heard that sentence from a movie, well pronounced and somewhat proud somewhere behind me. I turned around and saw two boys almost being slapped. French girls didn't like their (I would say drunk) approach. As the matter of fact, it wasn't the way to approach any girl. "Can I take you out gor a drink to Le Perchoir*? sounds MUCH better. *bar on the roof top in 11eme arrondissement.

#day89 Over the years I got used to people not knowing where I was coming from. There were people who would google my country right on the spot and ask me historical questions. There were those who knew where my (former) country was, only when I would say the name of the president who died in 1980. Funny enough, there were no Djokovic-s nor Divac-s that would explain where I was coming from as well as Tito could. One way or another, I always ended up explaining the difference between Yugoslavia and USSR. One day a friend of mine came up to me telling me he watched an interesting show about tigers. I loved cats of all sizes, he had my attention. He told me that apparently there were many tigers there, where I was coming from. I replied: Yes. Maybe 4 of them. In the zoos. He said: No, the TV show said they were thousands of them. He looked at me confused. I looked back confused. We stared at eachother for 30 seconds. I looked at him and asked him: Siberia? He said: Yes. That's not even a country, man. He said I confused him with wearing a fur hat on my fb profile photo. Good try!

#day88 On the opposite side of love, or so close and also very far from it, were flings, affairs and one night stands. Like in any big city anybody could find somebody and somebody could find anybody. All means of communication were present. From tender sudden touches under the table and free shots from the other side of the bar to swiping left/right on Tinders, Okcupids and other dating apps. We called it OKstupid and we knew that OK was something we would not be happy with. Amounts of fun were limited also. And more and more of my friends were bored and tired of themselves walking around like empty shells during the night, waiting for the bliss of attraction. They wanted to show how special they were. Alas, when I had to work on Saturdays and Sundays my favorite morning metro sport was counting people coming from one night stands, after parties and wrong addresses. On those moments I could rightfully celebrate dominance of my night cream, tooth paste and that fresh croissant I ate.