An American Horror Tale
She could not eat any faster if she had three mouths.
I am in Paris.
Gulping petite delicacies into my dessert hole.
They might escape if I slow down.
AMERICAN! a sixty-five pound weakling says in a disgusted tone.
I give him my American sign of disapproval of his disapproval.
He gives me the same sign back in French.
We both laugh.
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