the fault of my 9pm flight out to rome, which happened to be quite a deal, and quite a poor choice with regard to my travel plans. for now i am in paris an extra day while rome still awaits, clenching her fists in dismal anticipation. paris? what the hell do i do here? i guess there's a big eiffel tower, and some big churches, some golden statues and joan of arc and all that crap, but honestly, where can i find a nice pizza pie? a crepe is a sorry substitution. considering its lack of mozzarella and tomato sauce, and the fact that it is egg and not flour. plus, i think i might be late for my espresso with the pope, which i scheduled months in advance and paid more than i should have for, and the preparation list they mailed me back in gold seal did state that if one is even one minute late, the participant shall be "subject to eternal hellfire for selfishly wasting the time of His Holiness." i have always known deep down inside that paris would be my downfall, but how could i have any idea that this downfall would be a spiritual one, of my soul down to the darkest pits of hell? damn you, paris! damn you, cheap airline tickets! i can almost feel that espresso getting cold, the pope checking his golden watch, the minute hand ticking audibly and jangling with sapphires, the cardinals all breathing loud sighs and mopping their moist brows with crimson kerchiefs.
i managed to begin a haphazard and bizarrely-begun conversation with a girl at breakfast, and i might have coffee with her now, in order to impress upon her my caffeine-induced verbal insanity. this is of the utmost importance. perhaps i shall visit the catacombs today, an extensive underground tunnel system that happens to house 40,000 wheelbarrows' worth of human bones, some of them arranged into spontaneous discovered art: sculptures of flowers, beasts of burden, vampires, surreally life-like scenes of public beheadings, of which the french are historically fond.
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