I had to get some blood drawn today (by the cutest, plumpest old lady), and it got me thinking.
Since I've been in Paris, I went flying over my handlebars, and flying down a flight of stairs. I was accosted by a taxi driver, and I accidentally got drunker than I've been in years. I lost my glasses, a pair of nice earrings, and I broke my watch.
I've never exactly been a study of grace, but what's all that about? There must be some sort of neurological explanation, or at least a crackpot theory, about the high incidence of accidents when you're new to a city.
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