I love the smell of toner in the morning.
Well, I just couldn’t put it off any longer, today I got a…a…job. And at a, oh I just can’t say it - a copy shop! I won’t say which one, (but it rhymes with finkos). To say that this job was repetitive would be redundant.
Well just how did I reach this sorry state? Well you’ll just have to stick around to find that out. I can’t reveal all of my secrets on the first date, now can I?
One thing I will say for this place, though, it does recall the time I lived in France. You know, in the way that the smell of onions recalls Budapest. Oh, don’t play coy with me.
Ah, Gai Paris, strolling down the Rue du la blah blah blah, with the sun shining like sunshine in my hair, the smell of cheap parfum and cheaper regrets.
Aimeriez-vous manger un petit pastèque ? Je sais un penquin orange que vous pouvez parler à. Heh?
I remember one peculiar summer’s day. Paris was unusually hot and sticky for a city disused to sweating. The sun shone hot on that hot summer day, and I, like the sun, wore yellow. It was… oh, never mind when it was. Paris is timeless. As I strolled through the avenues of gorgeous men, and other people, I happened across a shop window filled with shiny objects. When suddenly my stupor was broken by the feeling of moisture on my chin.
I wiped away the spittle and looked around. There he was. Rafi, as he turned out to be, was a Turkish sailor on leave, and a part-time underwear model.
I said a small prayer under my breath. Cela est un fromage le plus excellent. Est est délicieux et a une couleur attrayante. Je dois dire, cela est le meilleur fromage que je jamais ai eu.
He didn’t speak a word of English and I not a word of Turkish. But it didn’t matter. He was an excellent mime. After a hilarious five minutes or so of walking against the wind (it wasn’t actually windy), Rafi invited me to get trapped inside his box.
I learned a lot that day, about life, about love, about pantomime. But eventually the time had come for my little seaman to shove off. And I to return to my unfortunate toil at the local l'atelier de copie, LeKinkos.
I love the smell of toner in morning. And know you know why.
Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons encore.
Well just how did I reach this sorry state? Well you’ll just have to stick around to find that out. I can’t reveal all of my secrets on the first date, now can I?
One thing I will say for this place, though, it does recall the time I lived in France. You know, in the way that the smell of onions recalls Budapest. Oh, don’t play coy with me.
Ah, Gai Paris, strolling down the Rue du la blah blah blah, with the sun shining like sunshine in my hair, the smell of cheap parfum and cheaper regrets.
Aimeriez-vous manger un petit pastèque ? Je sais un penquin orange que vous pouvez parler à. Heh?
I remember one peculiar summer’s day. Paris was unusually hot and sticky for a city disused to sweating. The sun shone hot on that hot summer day, and I, like the sun, wore yellow. It was… oh, never mind when it was. Paris is timeless. As I strolled through the avenues of gorgeous men, and other people, I happened across a shop window filled with shiny objects. When suddenly my stupor was broken by the feeling of moisture on my chin.
I wiped away the spittle and looked around. There he was. Rafi, as he turned out to be, was a Turkish sailor on leave, and a part-time underwear model.
I said a small prayer under my breath. Cela est un fromage le plus excellent. Est est délicieux et a une couleur attrayante. Je dois dire, cela est le meilleur fromage que je jamais ai eu.
He didn’t speak a word of English and I not a word of Turkish. But it didn’t matter. He was an excellent mime. After a hilarious five minutes or so of walking against the wind (it wasn’t actually windy), Rafi invited me to get trapped inside his box.
I learned a lot that day, about life, about love, about pantomime. But eventually the time had come for my little seaman to shove off. And I to return to my unfortunate toil at the local l'atelier de copie, LeKinkos.
I love the smell of toner in morning. And know you know why.
Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons encore.
posted by Eric Houston at 11:33 PM
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