When in first arrived in Paris my first question was "where is the ATM?" my second question was, "what do you mean the entire country is having a sale?" and my third and final question was, "can in sleep in your front yard?"
There are magic genies and they do grant your third wish. Sometimes their names are something hyphenated like Jean-Louis and sometimes their lanterns are actually just converted loft spaces that they share with their artist wife and feral cat.
I can't stop buying everything I see. Here's how it makes sense: the whole country is having a sale-- every place from French K-Mart to French Hermes is nearly 50% off THIS SEASON'S collections! I mean, I'd be a real asshole NOT to splurge, right? And once the plastic gets ripped through that little machine (an exhilarating sound) you KNOW that the luxury handbag item you just purchased is probably CLOSE if not ON PAR with what it would cost in the US. So what's the upside you ask? Do you even know how AMAZING it feels to skip down the streets of Paris with a BRAND NEW Louis Vuitton bag? Or to sit at a Parisian Cafe in a new pair of WHITE YSL cargo shorts you put on in the CHANGING ROOM ACROSS THE STREET!?
After the third hour, I walked down to the only bar that was still open. The group of Turkish men seated outside avoided eye contact when I asked for a beer. "Ferme!"
I'm just gonna clean it out. I'm going to suck this country-wide sale bone dry. And after that, I'm gonna charter a boat down to St. Tropez for me and four of my friends. Alright let's be reasonable, 3 of my friends.
I'd been hanging out at McDonalds. The homeless in Tours are more prevalent than in Paris or Orleans. Tours was also hotter so I could really smell the junkie sitting next to me. She smelled like a hot New York
City underpass-- like dried piss and cigarettes.
We ended up just chartering a boat down that big river that goes through Paris and we invited EVERYONE it was insane. We ONLY had champagne. Have you ever seen the Eiffel Tower through a glass of REAL French champagne? Let me tell you what I got so drunk I didn't care that I RUINED my first favorite pair of shoes I bought that afternoon after brunch.
People will take pity on you so long as your not offensive. You might be the highlight of their day. Go back a second time. Sneak a seat at the cafe and casually ask for the same beer you had yesterday. They'll remember you even if you're wearing different clothes. Your smile will be the same. Just don't ask to use the phone again. That's offensive.
Holy. Shit. Is that Chance Crawford? Naturally we are at the same bar and naturally I'd say hey but I'm SO sunburned from running after that taxi in the sun this afternoon. We had no joke like thirty bags and there was only ONE taxi left in Paris-- the rest were occupied-- so we ran after the last taxi and it was SO silly but boy am I sunburned.
Jean-Louis really did come. I had expected him to come from the other side of the road but there he was, on his bike with his wife not to far behind. Their little headlamps swerved around they must have been pretty drunk. But they saw my stuff in their driveway before they saw me. I was in the alley around the corner from the driveway. A sobering experience for them to see me there. They took me inside and fed me old pasta, fig flavored yogurt, half a grape fruit, orange juice, cheese and a little bottle of 1667 beer.
What hotel is this? It looks like the one with that really ornate headboard except without the headboard and plus an AMAZING Persian rug. Let's get room service. Do they have bloody Mary's in France? Whatever get the French version. That plus I'm wearing my new sunglasses for the rest of the day not just because I love them it's because I'm hung over.
I could only get five hours of sleep in before my train. Jean-Louis was awake just after me and immediately he went to the bakery to get bread. Only then did I realize that somehow a baguette was the French equivalent to a giant cup of American coffee. They have almost the opposite effect for me, except for this morning when the bread was still warm from the oven and Jean Louis led me to the train station on our bikes. I put my packs on backwards in our hurry and my heels scraped the red reflectors all the way there.
Flying back to New York. What a load of shit I had to pay $55 for my second and third extra bags. Paris was SO fun oh my god I love France.
On the train to Bayonne the windows were open and that pressure thing happened where it felt like someone was lightly boxing my ears. I feel in and out of sleep, not really knowing when I was reading my book or when I was dreaming. I dreamt someone had published an article of mine in Rolling Stone against my will. I was very angry.
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