I used to go to nerve.com once in a while. Look at the personal ads, write to girls here and there, and go out with a few now and then. Who am I kidding? I actually responded to a million ads and went out with a thousand girls -- give or take. You see, it was all free. It didn't cost me a cent. And here's why:

It's sunny. It's hot. I'm underwater

My friend Serenity is back from Dublin. I was never quite sure why she moved there in the first place. It was very sudden. She was here one day and there the next. While I was in Amsterdam last Summer, I bought a cheap Easyjet ticket to Ireland and visited her for a few days. She had been there about a year by that time, and already knew everyone. Every bar, every restaurant, every sidewalk, everywhere we went, a person or two or three would come over, talk, and say, "Hi". No surprise, really, she's that kind of girl.

Finally, a nice, sunny, warm, and beautiful day. A crystal clear picnic kind of day. A day for rag tops and tube tops. Pony tails and painted toes.

A friend of mine said she likes my new building because it's a real building. In my previous neighborhood, all the houses were hardly more than vinyl-sided cardboard shacks.

I'd sit on the edge of her filthy bed, waiting while she looked for something to wear. She'd try on these shoes, then those. The sheets were gray, the pillows nearly black.

Raymi is a satellite with a wide orbit.

I met up with John, who is "the coffee shop gossip," and Bree, who is "The Coffee Shop Girl," at the bar down the street. If you read my last post about The Coffee Shop Girl, you might be wondering what happened between then and now. Nothing. I'm still as confused as I ever was, only now I've given up trying to figure anything out.

I ran into The Coffee Shop Girl on New Year's Eve. She was with her best friend, who was visiting from out of town.

It's Sunday, so as usual, my adorable upstairs neighbor, Jasmin, came down to hang out with me while a realtor showed our building to some potential buyers. We made fun of the realtor when he wasn't looking, and when he took the buyers downstairs to see the basement, we joked about locking the door behind them. Today wasn’t as busy as last week, and after only a few appointments, he was gone.

Pauline never made it to the Paris train station. She missed her train, or skipped her train, or for whatever reason didn't get off the train as I stood there waiting and watching. I finally got hold of her after trying a dozen times to dial her Dutch cell phone from a Paris pay phone and charging it to my American calling card. Nope, she wasn't coming—but she'd still be in Amsterdam when I arrive, so let's meet up then and there, okay? Okay.

I can now officially add the night train from Rome to Paris to my list of things that were cool to do, but don't ever want to do again. Like LSD. You know, you're thinking, “This is cool—an adventure—something new and different"—but at the same time there's a part of you that just wants the whole thing to be over.

Ciao Manhattan —and ciao Brooklyn too. Leaving now to catch a plane and live La Dolce Vita in Florence. Hey Jas, will you please water my plants when you get a chance? I know how you hate to see them suffer.

The realtor came to show my building today, so I hung out with my upstairs neighbor, Jasmin, the way we usually do when he comes. I noticed Jasmin had a bass guitar resting on her couch. I asked her about it, and she said she’s going to start learning how to play.

As I was walking home recently, I passed by the coffee shop I visit almost daily. It was still open, and I saw that my two favorite waitresses were working. I stayed until they closed and asked one of them to join me for a drink. She agreed and suggested a place she liked that served beers in Styrofoam cups.

I used to carry a camera with me everywhere I went. Anytime I took a vacation, I would eagerly hold it, searching for things to photograph—images that would capture the time, place, spirit, and essence. Over time, my focus shifted: I stopped taking photos of my trips and started having trips about my photos.

Brian wants to come to Italy with me. And when I finish my job, he suggests we take a train to Paris and stay with his ex-girlfriend.

Her name was Ester and I met her on the last day of my first trip to Amsterdam when I was out looking for a memorable last night. I had been to half a dozen bars before I finally wandered into the crappy dive at the northern edge of the Red Light District.

Here's what happened to me between yesterday and this morning.

I met Lexy at Union Pool about 9 PM on Friday. We had a few drinks, took some photobooth pictures, and then left to find somewhere less crowded. She took me to a secret underground location — a bar in the basement of a Chinese restaurant where there were a bunch of drunks celebrating an even drunker girl's birthday.