Happy Hour

by Marlowe Granados

“It’s funny how in a place where everything is an Experience, people see such little value in just living.”

“I’m twenty-six but still Girlish. That’s the key in this world.”

People love Paris, but they forget it smells like a urinal. Being there is like paying someone to be rude to you and deciding to like it.

I go between feeling much too young and much too old for my age. I crave nothing serious, but when I pursue it, I am the one to drag a dark cloud overhead. It’s much easier to seem silly and light than to be the sum of your experiences. If only I could exist as perfect lightness, always laughing with my mouth open. I would float through life with ease, believing in my own unserious personality. It takes no effort to convince people you are in fact just that. They start to expect that of you, and nothing more.

There is true pleasure in fabrics, shapes, pleats, and folds. People think it is frivolous, but feminine things are often thought of that way; it is an important kind of knowledge that is overlooked.

When men are in the kitchen, it is considered work, and when women are in the kitchen, it’s considered duty. That’s why there are so few women chefs in restaurants. The kitchen is hostile territory. It’s a wonder nice things come out of it.

You’d think it was only polite for someone who gave you entrance to the world to see you through it.

I do wonder whether who I am when I’m alone is who I am really.

It is funny that most people want money for the power. I want money so I can have beautiful things—surround myself with them.