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About Paris

Met this one gal—Daisy, she called herself—worked the docks in ‘44. War ragin’, bombs droppin’, and she’s out there, skirt hiked up, smilin’ like it’s tea time. Gutsy as hell—made me happy, that grit! Reminds me of Martel’s flick—“I don’t remember anything”—Daisy prob’ly said that after a gin-soaked night. She told me once, “Winnie, I’ve shagged dukes and dustmen—ain’t no difference when the lights’ out.” Laughed my arse off—truth in that, eh?

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So, I head to Plage de la Salis. The sun’s setting, and it’s gorgeous. I plop down on the sand, and my buddy shows up with a cooler full of drinks. We’re laughing, reminiscing about the day. I’m like, “Dude, I fell on my butt in front of a crowd!” He’s dying laughing.

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