The end of a chapter

Aboard the TGV to Paris I could exhale a little. After the morning’s frenzy and the schlepping of my five bags onto the…

Farewell, Fitou

The time came for me to go home. After 85 nights in the so-called Yellow Apartment that I had found on Roomorama I…

There is a French institution called the bar tabac. It exists in the smallest villages, such as Fitou, and the largest cities, such…

It was the spring of 1996 and I was selling men’s shoes at Saks Fifth Avenue in Chicago. The suit department was next…