Still searching for the perfect mocha…

I woke up from an unpleasant dream and realized my sleep apnea insert wasn’t placed correctly. The little sleep quality graph on my watch was mostly red lines. Drat!

The first decent mocha I’ve had in Paris. Thankfully not the last!
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The first decent mocha I’ve had in Paris. Thankfully not the last!

A work in bronze by a sculptor named Benoît Lucien Hercule. Died in poverty at the age of 65, in 1913.
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A work in bronze by a sculptor named Benoît Lucien Hercule. Died in poverty at the age of 65, in 1913.

I pedaled around in search of breakfast snacks and a change of working environment, and found a place about five blocks away that made a very chocolatey mocha and a good eggs Benedict, and seems to tolerate laptops.

When the mocha looks like mud, you know it’s gonna be good.
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When the mocha looks like mud, you know it’s gonna be good.

It was still very crowded and not really a pleasant place to work, but the mocha was encouraging. The barista confessed “Sorry, we don’t know how to do it iced.”

I lingered just long enough to answer a few emails, then went back to the apartment so I could work in peace. Most of the afternoon was spent going over documentation and tweaking the “continuous integration” process for my project.

I have to admit, I didn’t really like the job. The project I inherited was over-designed and far too complicated for the needs of the company. Maintaining it was painful. I wanted to rewrite it in a much more compact form but was never granted the freedom. This kind of work is very exacting and highly abstract, and if you’re not really enthusiastic about the project you’re doing it for, you spent a lot of your work time fighting against your own brain, which is in a state of constant rebellion. (Like Paris.)

Nevertheless I did battle for about five hours, then went on another ride to clear my head.

Don’t walk under the ladder propped in front of the Lucky Bastard Cafe. It’ll just confuse things.
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Don’t walk under the ladder propped in front of the Lucky Bastard Cafe. It’ll just confuse things.

It’s a Latino thing!
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It’s a Latino thing!

During my wanderings I was astonished to find half a 5.25″ floppy diskette on the sidewalk. What in the hell??

What the heck is half an ancient IBM floppy diskette doing in the street?
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What the heck is half an ancient IBM floppy diskette doing in the street?

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