My wife and I are in Paris. She's here for a conference, I tagged along because... well, if you need for me to explain that, you are from Mars.
Today while she was in the conference, I was sightseeing. I followed my usual practice of wandering until I was good and lost, and then tried to find my way back to the hotel. Despite the crazy quilt street layout, it was easy to get back, we're about a block from the Arc de Triomphe, which is well signposted, and visually very imposing.
But anyway, I took out my camera to get a picture of some architectural feature that interested me, and a car whips over to the side of the road. I thought he were going to ask for directions.
"Anglais?" He asked, having sized me up pretty quickly.
"Yes," I said.
"I am speaking English to you," he said. "Where are you from?"
"Canada."
"Quebec?"
"Alberta," I replied.
"Ah. My grandfather went to Quebec, so I am speaking English very well. What is your name? I am Marcello."
"I'm Matt," and we shook hands.
"I am Italian," he said. "I was here for the (?) fashion exposition. Now I am going to the airport to return to Italy. I represent Versace, yadda, yadda, and yadda, all the top Italian houses. They gave me samples for the people who like Italian fashion.l Do you like Italian fashion?"
"Don't hustle me," I said. "l'm from Edmonton. They call me the Canadian Goose!"
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