back to the night life

It was just going to be one glass of wine.

(Ok, that's not true. Amongst fun friends there really is no such thing as one glass of cheap rosé.)

It was just going to be one bottle. But one bottle became two... and then one more... and then a fourth. Soon we were having dinner that was far too nice for our current state and wine chic enough to match the meal (if not us) with American businessmen we teased incessantly about the crisis like the little jerks we can be. What?

It quickly became obvious to me that it was time to go home. We all amicably parted ways and I turned to walking the cobblestone streets of the City of Lights. I love walking Paris. It's so small, so safe, so easy. So easy, in fact, that I knew exactly where to go after being gone for so long. So safe I didn't hesitate to walk it alone. So small I ran into Americans who also studies in France who I befriended in India.

"What are you doing here?!" they demanded.

Lacking an answer, I responded with a question: "Where are you going?"

"A party. Want to come?"

"Why not?"

Thus I returned to the life of the young and reckless à Paris.

I just don't remember the next day hurting quite this much... Advil, anyone?