Random Thought: Montrealers
Last night I spoke in French with a young and pretty lady at a bar on St. Catherine street, the main drag in Montreal. It went down like this:
“Bonjour,” I said.
She said “Bonjour.”
“Jim apple Jason. Y tu?”
She turned and left my life for good. The end.
Today I’m chatting with another one in Burlington, Vermont.
“May I have your number?” I say, grabbking for my cell phone in my pocket.
She smiles. “Oui,” she says, looking at the bulge of my hand or maybe of my johnson in my trousers.
Then I pull out my broke-ass Nokia cell phone, the Zack Morris model.
“Wait,” she says, “actually, um, nevermind.”
I’ll never see her again either.