You can build or destroy with that wiggly thing that lives in your mouth.
I got a surprise the other morning as I opened the shutters on our ground-floor apartment in Saint Maur des Fossés, France—Saint Maur where it rains so much that my toes are starting to grow feathers, where it rains so much that my burps sound like, “croak, ribbit,” where it’s so gray outside that a start on a good tan is any color darker than milk—that Saint Maur in case you were wondering.
Anyway, where was I? You made me forget … oh, yes, I was opening the shutters at the same time the garbage men passed to collect the garbage. As I peered into the gray, one of them looked my direction and said, “Good day.” It surprised me so much that I almost forgot to answer.
