oscar wilde

Two friends, on escrow.

Cecily: Guess. What.

Alexander: I would not know where to begin. But, given your house hunt, might I be speaking with a woman in escrow?

Alexander, on life changes.

Alexander: I have begun to eat meat again and stopped recycling; it’s doing wonders for my creative flow.

Alexander, on true love.

Alexander: I sat next to Slavoj Žižek’s more attractive doppelgänger on the bus today. In that moment I truly knew what it is to love a man.

Two friends, on family

Cecily: My father arrives in Paris tomorrow.

Alexander: I will pray for you, to whatever agnostic force exists in the beyond.

Cecily: You need not do that. My father is lovely.

Alexander: Oh really? I thought you too suffered from a case of « batshit family ».

Cecily: I do have a batshit family, but probably not in your sense. We’re high-functioning on the bad-shit spectrum.

Alexander, on June.

Alexander: And my semi-obscure French word for June is rightfully, in my opinion anyway, “frisson”.

Cecily, on Nicolas.

Cecily: Why Nicolas, you’re looking incredibly Bogart today. You’re practically coffee stained and singed around the edges.

Cecily, on her work, her passion.

Cecily: I am a Creative Strategist. I may not save lives, but I sure as hell guarantee the emotional wellbeing of aesthetes.

Cecily, on Wednesday night.

Cecily: Shakira and Beyoncé pulsed through the walls, and we gave ourselves up to translucent fabrics and hot nights with optional toplessness and mandatory thrusting.