A Lot To Talk About
There's this house in my dreams. It's about three hundred years old. It's overlooking a vast plantation of corn and sunflowers. When I look out the window, I see a medieval town perched on a hill. Two weeks ago, I found out that this house actually existed--in a town in France called Larnagol, in a valley called Lot.
In this special place, there's always this child who wakes me up every morning to say, "Bonjour! J'ai une blague a te raconter..." (Bonjour! I'd like to share this joke with you...)
The Rosé is always constantly chilled and flowing all day. Meals consist of salmon canapés, sweet, red tomatoes the size of a fist, foie gras salads, confit de canard, and four kinds of cheese. Conversation is always about travels, film and music.
The sun rises at 7:30, bids bonne nuit at 9:00. I always bid Lot goodnight, but never goodbye.
In this special place, there's always this child who wakes me up every morning to say, "Bonjour! J'ai une blague a te raconter..." (Bonjour! I'd like to share this joke with you...)
The Rosé is always constantly chilled and flowing all day. Meals consist of salmon canapés, sweet, red tomatoes the size of a fist, foie gras salads, confit de canard, and four kinds of cheese. Conversation is always about travels, film and music.
The sun rises at 7:30, bids bonne nuit at 9:00. I always bid Lot goodnight, but never goodbye.