Octavian

Octavian is a marginal. Octavian is a one-by-one social person. Octavian, within few seconds, could build a new world with a stranger. Chestnut hair, pale skin, tall and slim, elegant, straight nose, glittering brown eyes...

It took few seconds. We sat at La Perla, Stanislas, my sister, Octavian and myself...

-          We come from Quebec. Montreal, Quebec, you know? In Canada...

-          I know, but I have not been in front of a map of the world for years...!

-          I can draw for you...

He took out a pen and on my paper napkin took place Romania, Japan, America, the wolf and then Montreal... When Caïpirinhas was served, Octavian announced he was not drinking alcohol, only tasting... He tasted a lot... Then tapas filled our table and he wanted to taste of everything, though he was eating Mexican for the first time of his life... He made a “galette” with his fajitas, which he ate with a fork and knife under Stan’s exasperated glance: “You don’t make a fucking “galette” with fajitas, man...” But Octavian has his own way, though he promised not to do it next time.

Octavian is a clever animal. He explained how he tamed his Head chef, an aggressive ginger-haired Irish. He would ignore the bell at the pass, leaving the food spoil, arguing “Why don’t you take the food to the table, chef? Why don’t you do it yourself?” till the Head chef, exhausted, would surrender, harmless, and apologize to Octavian.

Later, while we had moved to a club in Soho, Stan found Octavian and I at a table, filling sheets of a notebook with anything, with French, English and Romanian, surrounded with people drinking...

-          What are you doing man? Keep this for 5 in the afternoon, man, not for 1 in the morning!

Octavian showed me the pictures he took in Romania with his Japanese girlfriend he sees twice a year and he brought to visit the Romanian gypsies and the fields of Romania.

By the end of the night he was bewitched, confused by alcohol and music... caught by a wave called London.