A glass of absinthe
When I asked the waitress for a quickie, she slapped my face and flounced off towards the kitchen. Seeing my look of hurt and embarrassment, the man at the next table leaned over and said. “I think you’ll find it’s pronounced Quiche.” That summed up my first day in Paris. The second was no better. I slipped on a wet path and fell into the Seine.
They say things come in threes, so I took great care visiting the Musée d’Orsay. Did you by any chance read about an accident in a Paris museum, where a Rodin statue was…
About the Author
Roger is a regular contributor to CafeLit and his work is featured in The Best of collections. He charms us all with his humour but sometimes also his pathos.
Published April 22 2015