It's my birthday. In Pruszkow it is 6 am and has already been light for two hours- I am the only one awake and I'm enjoying this situation. There is still a sort of ringing in the air (or maybe in my ears) after an enthusiastic dinner yesterday which served as our Polish wedding party- it started out demure and awkward and closed with a furniture breaking tango that necessitated the removal of two of the guests under pretense of 'going for a walk'. This veiled eviction led us to the railway tracks where we drank beer in the rain and watched the trains go by with Remigiusz (Kuba's faithful friend who he speaks to almost every day on Skype) and Marcin's friend Macek, who started training to be a priest but left and went to work in a porn shop (women being his downfall). We squatted on the weedy verge amongst the beer cans and cigarette packets, eaten alive by mosquitoes, and Marcin told me, This is my Potato Point and Broken Hill...now you understand the forces that shaped my character. On arriving home he started to vomit and is expected to spend the day in a state of pale green dormancy.