You wake up one morning and it's Saturday and instead of getting up, you decide to stay in bed and read some.
You read for a while and then look at the clock and you go oh my God, it's twelve o'clock! and you have to be at a friend's house on the other side of town, to get to a Romanian restaurant and eat Romanian food, as it just happened that on this particular Saturday, the sun rose and then it was the National Day of Romania for a while.
You jump under the shower and there's no hot water but you have no time to warm it up, so you suck it up and take a cold shower instead and while you're in the shower you remember that you have to bring the motorbike in service as the odometer and speed meter stopped working after the last rain and then you exit the shower (wet and cold and in a hurry) and see that you still have to lay the clothes you washed yesterday to dry (yeah, yesterday was a day of laziness for you) then you get out of the house and you're already late and your friend calls you and you end up speeding through traffic (and thanking the FSM for the relaxed traffic although it's a Saturday morning) and you get at the service-shop ten minutes later.
You're at your friend's and you're just five minutes late and everything is cool.
You're at the Romanian restaurant and you have a beer and Romanian whine and an unexplainable food ("bulz" is actually quite explainable, but you won't try to explain it, because you know people have to try it out to actually understand what it's all about) and you finally eat almost a whole bowl of pickles in brine, which you missed dearly for a while now.
It's late and you have to get to Ikea, because you said would and you go back to your friend's home and rest and it starts raining, but it's OK: you're inside and it's fun to watch the rain.
You're rolling on the highway and it's dark outside, because it's already five o'clock and still heavily raining, so almost nothing is visible and it's hot in the car so you fall asleep.
You wake up and you haven't had all the sleep you needed and you're groggy, but the rain stopped and you're almost there, so it's more or less OK and then you arrive and make some rounds through Ikea, picking up a strangely shaped red pillow, a computer table, rolls to mount under tables to make them mobile and a mini lamp.
You get to the car and start searching for the concert hall, to go to a concert you weren't sure you wanted to see anyway, but since you're there and didn't talk about it with the guys there's nothing better to be doing.
There are lots of cars on the highway and it seems that everybody is either going to the concert or just there to be in your way and you take a couple of wrong turns and go past the concert hall once or twice and then you turn around and the hall is just there.
You're impressed and you're taking pictures and the people are applauding and laughing and and actually singing along at all the right times (yeah, it's a good performance).
Everybody is sqeezing out the doors and they jump at the food laid around in waiting by the Romanian Embassy, and you stay there and socialize for a while (because there are all the people you stopped talking to, when you left your old job which you lost contact with). You decide you'll go home with somebody else than the guys you came with, then with somebody else still, and end up on the way back on the highway, chatting about dreams, relaxed artists, Oliver Shanti and Tamango, while sitting in the back seat of the car, in between two beautiful ladies.
Life is good.