The 6:41 to Paris

~ ~ ~

Or the SNCF, maybe.

A stock phrase like the one the guy in front of me just said: “That’s the SNCF for you.” Everyone is nodding and grumbling. Everyone complains about the SNCF, in a spirit of consensus, criticizing everyone and no one at the same time, and it gives us plenty of excuses for being in a bad mood, it’s manna from heaven for those who firmly believe the country is going to the dogs, that everything was better before, and now we’re in the gutter about to be washed down the drain, splash.

I had a bad taste in my mouth.

But the SNCF would still be a good way to try and break the ice. Let her fly off the handle and rant and rave if she needs to. At least so we don’t part on an unpleasant note.

Make small talk.

I would love to make small talk with Cécile Duffaut. At a sidewalk café overlooking the Canal Saint-Martin, or on the Boulevard Saint-Germain.

Before or after the hospital.

After would be better. To get my life back to normal. Yes, that’s it. To get my life back to normal.