All efforts to go out and party in Paris ended up being completely detoured. Mostly by me. Three nights in a row I didn’t end up at the venues I was supposed to and didn’t rendez-vous with people I was meant to. Instead, each night we ended up at the cheery Au Petit Fer à Cheval with the ray-of-sunshine-disguised-as-a-bartender, Bruno.
I think I’ve gotten a little soft. When a waitress at Prescription Cocktail Club shoved me (twice), I simply left. This is totally out of character. Good or bad? Is the New York in me waiting at the airport?
Paté and Heartbreak 