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Anyways, I pull over, all nervous-like. She struts up, smellin’ like cheap perfume and trouble. I’m sittin’ there, sweatin’, thinkin’, “The first rule of war is…”—what’s that line? Oh yeah—“don’t die!” I’m laughin’ to myself, like, “Larry, don’t screw this up, man!” She’s all, “What you want, honey?” and I’m stutterin’ like a dang fool. Surprised me how chill she was—prolly seen worse than my sorry ass!

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, not just a drizzle, but a full-on downpour. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m runnin’ for cover, and I duck into this café on Rue de l’Église. I order a coffee, and the barista’s like, “You look like a drowned rat.” I’m like, “Thanks, I needed that.” But the coffee? Oh man, it’s like liquid gold. I’m sippin’ it, and life’s good again.

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