(no subject)
yesterday riding the 7 toward place d'itale to finally get to glaciere, my "home" of a hotel here, i swear there was a man who looked exactly like kevin black standing right in front of me.
i was drunk, so he probably didn't like this, but i peered into his eyes, and they weren't quite as bright and big, but almost. i swear though. but he did not say hello so i assume kevin is still in portland.
plus, the guy was wearing a business suit. decidedly not kevin. but it took me a while. glad i was with a bunch of males, otherwise i might've been attacked for my staring.
and man the metro smells, like sour piss. but the rest of this paris thing is lovely. last night we went to the highlander and then the menestral and the hop or something like hop in french, and on the way home we stopped for crepes at an all night creperie (by the way, all night creperies are the best things in the world). i had a nutella-banane crepe. i love the city. wish i had an endless bank account and never had to come home.
a little boy walked up to me on the metro, puts down a stereo and presses play. it's the back beat of a ludacris song. he raps to it, in french. some of his spit hits me on the cheek. i give him a euro and 2 cents.
cedric, the bartender. he talks like this, he say "sly like cat you are when you walk" when i snuck up on him with a soccer ball late last night. he is wonderful. the epitome of all things french: sompletely un-understandable, and very nice but when you get confused he gets hard to talk to, suddenly angry like "stupid american", i correct him, i say "californian" he say "yes, yes, that better."
oh, the french.
i was drunk, so he probably didn't like this, but i peered into his eyes, and they weren't quite as bright and big, but almost. i swear though. but he did not say hello so i assume kevin is still in portland.
plus, the guy was wearing a business suit. decidedly not kevin. but it took me a while. glad i was with a bunch of males, otherwise i might've been attacked for my staring.
and man the metro smells, like sour piss. but the rest of this paris thing is lovely. last night we went to the highlander and then the menestral and the hop or something like hop in french, and on the way home we stopped for crepes at an all night creperie (by the way, all night creperies are the best things in the world). i had a nutella-banane crepe. i love the city. wish i had an endless bank account and never had to come home.
a little boy walked up to me on the metro, puts down a stereo and presses play. it's the back beat of a ludacris song. he raps to it, in french. some of his spit hits me on the cheek. i give him a euro and 2 cents.
cedric, the bartender. he talks like this, he say "sly like cat you are when you walk" when i snuck up on him with a soccer ball late last night. he is wonderful. the epitome of all things french: sompletely un-understandable, and very nice but when you get confused he gets hard to talk to, suddenly angry like "stupid american", i correct him, i say "californian" he say "yes, yes, that better."
oh, the french.