"What?" As usual there was a lot of background noise when I called his cell, so I didn't understand what he'd just said.
He repeated, "I'm in Paris."
"Paris?" When we'd exchanged e-mails/texts a week earlier, he'd been on his way to Palm Springs for the weekend.
When I didn't hear from him after I expected him to be home, I was worried that I'd upset my unflappable friend with my last round of aggressive story notes, but now he assured me that wasn't the case. He's in Paris. Outside at a cafe perhaps. I can picture that.
Though I wasn't the cause, I was right to sense that something was amiss. He was feeling down and decided to go home for a while via Paris. Even his depression is cosmopolitan.
If I'm ever going to ...
Well, I need to renew my passport.
A year ago on TTaT: $20.20 on rocks