This is a true story. The events described took place in Paris in 2018 and are narrated by The Man. Occasionally he thinks he's in a Philip Marlowe novel, so the style of the post is a little different to usual.
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| Gare du Nord |
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid August, with the queues not moving and a look of resignation on the face of The Dame. I was wearing my navy-blue long shorts with leg pockets, white polo shirt, black sandals and no socks. I was cool, clean, bearded and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed traveler ought to be. I was crossing the City of Lights...
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You can read the whole story on the author's blog at Cabbie Monaco: Our Pockets Not Picked in Paris.
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