So some bitch gets on the ICE at Aachen with her Burger King or McDonald’s—now the entire carriage stinks of her hot food. Thick as sh*t. Absolutely thick as sh*t. No desire to go to Fifth Avenue; no desire to go to Empire; most boring strip club in the world; suddenly realise how naughty Berlin still is—even those rough little places, Sissi, Monte Carlo or 77. From Gare du Midi, straight to Brussels Grill. It’s very busy and there only seems to be one waitress, so I’m starting to regret it. After this, check in, maybe a nap, then out to Cine Paris at least. Then all day Saturday in Brussels—just drinking & eating, drinking & eating.