|Duh – where am I?|
You don’t need an excuse to write about Paris. Paris is une permission in itself. This week-end I had the chance to spend the evening in the city of lovers. I dined at the Vaudeville Brasserie which is just by the Bourse de Paris. It was succulanimous food served by a charming waiter named José from Nicaragua. For some reason his maitre constantly interfered with the poor guy’s work in some kind of
|Emma deep in Parisian research. You gotta live it to write it.|
attempted public humiliation. He didn’t bite or fire back. His service was impeccable. Where I come from the tormentor would have been waking up with a crowd around him. I would have applauded. If you travel to Paris head for the 2nd Arrondissement and treat yourself to oysters and magret de canard at the Vaudeville. Ask for José and tell him Emma sent you.
I once commented that most people’s troubles result directly from other people. Why why why are some people such utter shits? Why? We are a world of angry people. Some people are shits because they are angry. The others are angry because of the shits. It’s enough to make me circle viciously looking for an outlet. Ah! There you are…
I rode the Metro with all the late late lovers. I dreamed of my next
passion patrol book set mainly in France. I thought back to Freddie and Anna as love swept them away along the Seine in Knockout. I thought of books and the great traditions of literature…..OK, I’d had a few glasses of wine (the champagne doesn’t count does it)……Paris – c’est une permission.
Emma Thinx: You’re the boss of you – give yourself permission.