“mais oui! demolition is scheduled for december,” is the response. “no more house! the owners have decided to sell it, and the new owners are razing everything.”
and apparently also the last time you’ll be in this particular house since it will either be a pile of rubble or replaced by something bigger when you come back a year later.
however, it will not the last time you see this funny face.
he drops you off at the train station. you wanted a photo of his old car. but “vite! vite! vite! cathy there’s a bus coming and i’m blocking the lane vite! vite! vite! vite!” so it doesn’t happen.
off to the airport.
here, around a table, is where the paris plotting begins.
ideas are thrown around for how an american can legally come to live and work in france. (if, by chance, one has leads or is searching to hire a certain texan, feel free to send them this way.)
the thing is, the coup threw you off your plan. you had a perfect timeline littered with experience and connections that was going to somehow land you permanently back in france. then the coup happened, and you were sent scrambling. so you’ve learned to not make too many plans. instead you will plot.
how will this plot unfold? on verra! we’ll see!
then two o’clock comes around.
time to go. no more detours.
this one accompanies you all the way to the turnstile for your train to the airport.
then it’s just you, your backpack, and a very satisfied stomach all the way back to texas.
(of france 2012, that is.)