With their wings, they’re beating down our doors and windows to come inside to the light to die.
Seriously. No, SERIOUSLY. Our upstairs bathroom is the scene of a terrible buggy holocaust. There must be two-dozen dead grasshoppers on the floor. Reaching the toilet without crushing buggy corpses was a dance.
**
Our guard has me that B has "gotten a call" and that the process to find my phone is "moving forward well". But he said all this in French, so I'm not sure of the specifics. But. But! Ha ha ha! I am hopeful!
(Of course, there's a good chance that I won't be able to afford to buy my phone back from the thieves. But it would be nice to see it at least.)
