NEEDLING

Another night in Paris. Eleven o’clock in the morning, getting up, drinking coffee. Paris, the city of lights … I don’t know about that, what I do know is that we started eating and drinking around six last night, and that after avoir refait le monde several times over, people went home somewhere around three in the morning. I gladly slept on Frère and Claire’s couch. What I do know is that I’ve had coffee, cigarettes, loads of food and wine. I feel like the monk who’s broken all his vows. But I knew that all ready. I’d decided long before the other day. When I bought my ticket, actually, was when I decided that having a coffee would be the first thing I did when I got to Paris. It happened as soon as I stepped out of Gare St. Lazare and met up with Pierre and his son Vadim. I called him from the airport to warn him of my arrival.

“Have you had anything to eat? Are you hungry?”
“I’m fine.”
“You had some food on the plane?”
“Yeah …. totally disgusting. What I need is a really good coffee, actually.”

Or, rather:

“T’as bouffé?”
“Ouais, dans l’avion … Carrément dégelasse, mais bon. Ce dont j’ai besoin, c’est un bon p’tit café, à vrais dire.”

And thus started the debauchery. We stopped at a proper Parisian bistro, and had ourselves a couple of espressos.