Monday, February 12th., Rue de Calais, Paris.
I called at a bureau de tabac this morning to buy a box of Mexican cigars, and was told that the state was out of stock of them, and would not have any more ready until next month. A good example of State management. The same thing happened with Jupiter matches a few months ago.
I have been having difficulties with the tenants overhead, through the medium of the concierge, apropos of pattering about in boots on uncarpeted floors. The concierge listens attentively, but I don't think she takes any action on my behalf. I imagine that, once out of my sight, she simply shrugs her shoulders in a characteristically gallic way and forgets all about it. I asked what the monsieur was by profession, and was told that he was the manager of a large business office, and that he sang at the Opera (presumably in the chorus) three times a week. This seemed to me to be very Parisian. I suppose I should take the matter up directly but am inhibited by a native diffidence. Also my French, though much improved, degenerates when I am under pressure so I don't think I could carry off an interview satisfactorily should it become a matter of dispute. Nothing is simple.
However, cigars and noise are really minor irritants which I should not allow to bother me. The main thing is to be living in Paris, this 'city of sin', as an independent person rising in his chosen profession. Perhaps I need a regular 'companion' to help improve my French and educate me in a few other things at the same time. Shouldn't be too hard to arrange. I must consult one of my Parisian men-of-the-world friends.
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