I know this is not part of the ongoing Cold New Year story, but something I said on twitter triggered a memory and there was a rabbit hole I fell down in my mind and a bunch of other shit happened so I’m going to tell you a story.This story takes place in the magical year of 1998, June to be exact. I was a young pup, inexperienced in the ways of the world. So, I decided to attend a trip to Paris (France, just in case some Texans out there just got excited.). The trip was sponsored by our high school’s French Club, a fact that is only relevant in that I had not nor have I ever taken French as a second language. But I had a reputation around school as “educated” and my parents had the money, so I was allowed to tag along.
After months of preparation and passport gettin, we went off and spent nine days in the City of Lights. It was one of the best times of my life. The language barrier fell off after a day or two as I tend to pick up languages and accents fast, especially when immersed in them. We bargained for baguettes and t-shirts at the markets. We ate fresh baked croissants and heavy butter every morning. We drank every night on the steps of Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, except for the one night we went clubbing at a place called the Locomotion next to the famed Moulin Rouge. We were yelled at every night by our Pakistani concierge for enjoying the hell out of being young and dumb. There was even a camembert throwing incident.