The Lack Of The Social

Why write Le Lettre when you can type a text. Although with so little text, one may lose some subtext, some element of amour. Yet Le Chat was not one for childish games in Le Lettres, as those should be filled with no esprit.

He head never been one for French humor, or even British for that matter. And in this particular section of Seatak, it had become all to apparent his humor was entirely his own. He had a thing for what one might call cosmic humor, the sudden realization that the universe doesn't give a fuck about you and its up to you to form meaning in your own life. Comment Ca Va sir eldritch, one shall not be your snack today! Before now he had not even considered the idea of becoming any kind of teacher, withdrawing into himself. He gotten into the wrong crowds, the wrong chat rooms.

Yet over time he became increasingly drawn to people's desire to learn, and at times even learn about him when he had went out of the lime light. He had once known a Le Femme in his younger years had become briefly acquainted with. Of Romanian-American birth, there was some differences between his closet desires to learn French and his mixed feelings about Romanian girls. It was different from British, Spanish, or French. But the friendship worked in a pinch. Although he had learned the difference between Bonjour and Adieu, he never got much of an opportunity to use it. And his paranoia was at an all time high about whether if he lost it he would lose it.

But with Le Lettre, he could find some means of correspondence across different demographics. He met with girls who liked to draw graphics, produce cover art for cheap books, among other things. And yet it was only Romanians and French that had any kind of lasted reluctance. With Romanians it was different from French girls, part of it was his entire uncertainty about what culture they had. Various cheap fantasy movies from the nineties lacked the ability to give him any favors. With French it was fairly certain, even if he did not understand the culture as much as now, was more certain. And yet for whatever reason this never made it to his social interactions.

On some level he knew that his lack of knowing for Romanian girls would make him come across worse than he meant, yet with French had known somewhat how they would like since the fifth grade. Although he kept trying to tell himself it was just one girl. Just one life, just one comment. Just one stupid little kid in the game of life. He dreaded the day she would say, Comment Ca Va Le Homme!

He wanted to protect his Romanian friends.

He had no such warm feelings for the French. Until one day when he met a girl that was willing to help him learn a bit of the local lingo. They would exchange Le Lettres to learn as much as possible. But she had left his life abruptly, but to young for him. It marked the second stage of his withdrawal from the public sphere. He withdrew into the net, he withdrew into the pixels on the screen. He withdrew from the only thing that still gave him a life.

The life of a disillusioned hairless cat.

The story of an alley cat.

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