Artichoke is interesting because he's torn. I barely see him anymore because I'm around the language school so rarely, but last night a group of us went out for one of the French teachers' birthdays. We left together because we were walking to the same metro stop. On the way, he said Kiosk beer? and I said sure, it's been a while.

The conversation meandered to expat life, and he said This is basically a man's city. I said Well it is and it isn't, if you're a man with certain sorts of weaknesses this place will find them and tear you apart, it's everywhere and it's sad. He looked down at beer number 6 or 7, a quiet night for him recently, and smiled a little to himself. I halfheartedly backpedaled until I saw he wasn't planning to get offended and shut down.

His girlfriend Tanya is driving him crazy. A couple months ago, he was saying how she gets up early to iron his socks, she keeps his apartment stocked with food, she says you go to bed early I'll wash the dishes...He could feel himself becoming more childlike and dependent on her, and he said That's the way to get any man, just make him useless. I remember I had ragged on him a lot that night so decided to hold the thought of not wanting a man who could be made useless.

Things are different now. He's sick of the babying, has realized he really wants more of an ally, and is more than willing to was the goddamn dishes at night, thank you very much. He's at the end of his rope, she can't understand why, she tries to take better care of him, and it snowballs. But he can't break up with her because he's Artichoke.

After we parted ways in the metro, he texted me:

Him: "Don't be mad at me!"
Me: "why on earth would i be mad at you"
Him: "dunno"
Me: "goodnight"
Him: "whatever"

(An hour later, when I figured I could plausibly pretend to be asleep: "You're one top bird.")

The "are you mad at me, why do you hate me" thing has lasted for all ten months I've been here. It started one night in Aubergine's club, when Artichoke told me that whenever he sees me he feels guilty ("You just make me want to repent, like...you're Jesus or something." (?)) I laughed it off and said that's ludicrous, and somewhere between that and "shut up" has been my response ever since. I guess if he needs reassurance that I don't hate him, I can give it to him, although it's strange.

As we stood out of the rain by the kiosk, a couple dyevushkas in knee-high boots, shiny pants, and cropped fur coats got out of a car. He looked at them and said What is it about those sour-faced Russian girls? I did my best sour-faced-Russian-girl face, and he said no, you don't have it in you. If he's propping me up as a foil to these Russian girls, that sheds some light on the guilt.