Jasper climbed the ivy-strewn wall to his third story window. It was wholly unnecessary, but more fun—and exercise to boot. Unlatching the window was somewhat of a delicate task whilst clinging to the window frame with a few fingers and toeing in on the sill while attempting to slide the latch up from within with a folded piece of cardboard that Jasper kept tucked into his wallet for this very express purpose. It took balance, focus, and patience. The window thus opened, he swiveled into his room and threw on a compilation of Bjork that he had made over the weekend. It had been a good day—he had studied two chapters of Arabic grammar after work while nursing a local micro-brew at his favorite bar, and he had also read a 1/3 of his Gabriel Garcia Marquez autobiography during lunch. At work itself, he had had a very meaningful conversation on metaphysical philosophy with Liz, the new secretary under Brommerman, and obtained her cell-phone number. He had also taken three full, swiftly executed dumps throughout the day. It had been a wonderful day. A home-cooked meal of fish and curry at his friend’s apartment for dinner, followed by a half-hour session of shisha smoking and conversation, with small glasses of port. Then a quick, quiet dusk lit bike ride home, and a climb up to his room.
Jasper brushed his teeth and watched himself in the mirror. He never saw the same person twice.