Day 51
Location 13: Paris
Dec. 21, 2022
On my way to meet Lucas at the Basilique du Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre (a church on a hill), some guy stepped in front of me, turned to face me, and demanded "stop!". He began tying a worn-out red string on my wrist and I assumed it was a requirement to enter the church, but I was skeptical.
In a few seconds, before he'd even finished tying the string around my wrist, three of his colleagues had encircled me, causing a bead of sweat to find its way to the back of my neck. "No thanks" I squeak out, having realized this is the French cousin of the New York City scam where someone hands you a "free" CD of their music before demanding you pay $5 for the unwanted gift.
"No thanks" I repeat with more force paired with a tug of my arm towards my body. It's in this moment that I realize the guy suddenly has a firm grasp of my wrist. So firm, in fact, that I can't pull it free. He has got me. That bead of sweat on my neck now has a group of friends. "It's okay" he says to calm me down like I'm a first-time skydiver whose gotten nervous moments before the jump, and then "where you from?" with a clear disinterest in the answer. My entire body has now turned into a luxury gated community for beads of a sweat and so with all my strength I yank my arm free with a stirring "sir, let go of my arm!" and head up the stairs to the church and Lucas.
Back in New York, my friends and I often visit The Garret, a bar above a Five Guys. The place is fairly up-scale and is often filled with uppity patrons (that we work hard to disrupt).
For example, one time a group of people in tuxedos came in and told me–because we were standing in a particular section of the bar–we had to move, they had this spot reserved. You should know this isn't a huge bar with tables. This is a notoriously small, sweaty bar with no room where everyone's packed in like sardines with barely enough room to dance. After I told him that his request was insane and asked where he wanted us to go with an arm-waving gesture that conveyed "there's no room, bro" he said "you don't understand, we just came from a charity gala". All the goodwill he had garnered with his sentence up to the word charity was instantly eradicated with the use of the word gala. "Okay we'll move" I lied as we kept dancing until he tattled to the bartender who shrugged before returning to serving drinks.
Anyway, all that is to say after the Church, Lucas and I went to Five Guys where I drew a burger that spelled out the restaurant's name in crayon. Here's a photo of that along with some memories from The Garret (the NYC bar).
Next up was an improvisational jazz bar. Musicians (including a few of Lucas' friends) show up and perform in groups with people they've never met or played with before. Sometimes a group would be okay, and you'd be waiting for them to finish more than listening. Other (and most) times the group would be incredible and everyone was vibing, clapping, and dancing.
One musician stood out among the rest, though. Not for his incredible talent or lack thereof. Just for his...I don't know. My first impression was that he looked like a person from the future trying to blend in. He was also as sweaty as I was in that scam story from earlier. Lastly, he was a doppelgänger of the disgraced, pedophilic comedian Chris D'Elia. He stepped up to the mic and was a great performer despite being the first singer to not allow the saxophone or guitar or bass or trumpet or drums to take a solo.
Left: My Photo of if Neo from the Matrix Had Long Hair | Right: Chris D'Elia (pedophile)
