Criminal.

I am thinking of committing a crime.

Many of these hostels carry small exchange libraries, collections of books on a shelf that are free to be taken, so long as a similar, already-read book is left in its place. All of the books I have with me I want to keep. However, on the shelf at my current hostel is a sadly-discarded copy of Marcel Proust's Swann's Way, inscribed to Judy with the message, 'Proust will make you feel alive again.' Not only have I always wanted to read Proust (I instead took the Sartre option in second-year French), but I particularly want this copy. Tonight, when nobody's looking, I intend to take it.

Yesterday afternoon I was introduced to four Irish girls, in Stockholm for their post-graduation weekend. The entire weekend was to be devoted to dressing up, finding exclusive nightclubs and drinking cocktails. When I returned from dinner at 10pm last night, they were standing on the doorstep, hiding from the rain in anticipation of the taxi they had ordered. They wore expensive dresses and even more expensive, poorly applied make-up.

When I awoke this morning, I found that only two had returned to the dormitory.