lundi 28 février 2011
i was wearing my favorite shirt. it was march, and spring was in the air.
he sat at the bar, and pretended to write in his notebook (this much i learned later). a piece of paper dropped to the floor, and i saw my opportunity to talk to him.
with his "merci" i knew immediately that he wasn't from these parts.
a few more coy smiles, and i left without speaking to him.