At the airport in Rome I bumped into an old friend, someone from my days of crazy clubbing and questionable choices. He was on his way to Paris to see some relatives, we had a nice chat and remembered the good old times. Far from being jealous or suspicious, Mr. R kept reading his book and sipping on his water ignoring me, my friend, and the conversation we were having.
I guess it is refreshing to see that :
A- he trusts me
B- I am so over my past life
C- I can still have conversation with people who belong to my previous life
Anyway, once we got to Paris, and we said goodbye to S. and his traveling partner (we even exchanged numbers again, in case they needed anything in Paris), we jumped in a cab and got home in 20 minutes.
It was lunch time, so as soon as we dropped our bags we ran downstairs to survey the situation at the boulangerie. Did they still have the Gallette de roi? Any rose de sable? What could we (Mr. R mainly) buy?
Before we could even make up our minds about what we were craving for, we were stopped by this sight.
Not only there was a line to get in but they were also delivering bags and bags of flour. It looked like a scene from a WW2 movie. Mr R and I were too hungry for that..turned around the corner and indulged in Breakfast in America
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