Tour de Fin
Horrible French. Whatever.
More Sandman. Reminds me of American Gods. Seems almost somewhat derivative of it. Of course, American Gods came later, is the evolution, novel-wise, of Sandman. But much the same feeling of olde gods combined with new and seedy Americana.
Tour ended. Well, there are 94.2 kilometres to go. Sorry, 94,2. What do they say in France? That it is 94 comma 2? Other cultures are untuned, said the largely monolinguist.
Japanese dramas, too.
“I’ve been reading Orwell’s Road to Wigan Pier,” a friend tells me via Facebook chat. I respond thusly, meditating on poverty vs celebrity: