Lates in Paris

Descent into Parisian cliche. Too much wine, not enough battery – a modern thriller, with no production budget. Stumbling out of an old favourite in the small hours, we swung a right, right again and then dragged ourselves three, or maybe seven blocks east until we reached the hotel. Only some bastard had moved it. The whole place, completely gone without a trace. We'd only been out three, maybe five hours. Unthinkable. Not even a note for the guests. Thankfully a group of charitable Parisians were able to track it down and gave its new location to a well timed taxi. Bonne nuit.

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