Saturday night, I drunkenly stumbled into a restaurant that I (…drunkenly) decided I had to eat at, because its name, La Fonda, is the name of my subway direction to get home from the center of the city. Before I found the restaurant I’d had a few puffs of a joint from a charitable stranger, so at the restaurant I scribbled down all my high thoughts as I ate. Well, the waiters saw a person eating alone and writing, and I think they thought I was a critic! So they treated me really nicely. Or maybe they just have good service there. Anyways, paid 30 Euro (left out the s for you, Andrew) for a bottle of white wine, delicious goat cheese salad with lacy pieces of lettuce, and then a chicken dish with caramelized apples—not too sweet, just really warm and pleasant. Then ice cream, which I don’t remember since I was washing it down with the last of my wine bottle, although I’m thinking there may have been some pleasant nutty sauce involved. There was a guy staring at me the whole time and I looked great that night, so at the time I figured he was just enjoying the view. In retrospect however, I realize he was probably just wondering why some girl was alone and swaying in her seat.