The second night in the hostel at Belleville

I woke up in the middle of the night to a purring sound interspersed by moans. It took me a moment to orientate. Then my confused mind found its bearing. The sounds were coming from the top bed of the bunker to my left.

The bed that had the Chinese student, a petite beautiful girl who normally talked nonstop in chineglish to the Chinese male student who sleeps on the top bed of my bunk.

I knew that sound. It was the sound of mechanically aided self pleasure. I was impressed. Such bravado.

In the dark I could make out her lower limbs.
Splayed. But then a movement caught my eyes.
In the lower bunk beneath her, here the Iraqi medical supplies saleman slept, his duvet was moving in a steady rhythm, around his mid-section.

I wanted to laugh; Such camaraderie.
Help yourself, so that I can help myself while listening to you help yourself.
I must have slept off the comforting sounds that enveloped the room.

When I woke up this morning she was in the shower singing loudly, a butchered version of Beyonce's Formation and he was praying on his mat at the corner of the room.

The other Chinese guy was on his laptop at the cemter table. He looked up at me and smiled.

He said: "Morning. Slept well?"
"Not really."
He laughed and pointed to the other bunk then mouthed the words.
"Motherfucker."

I laughed.

Paris.