I have never driven a car in Paris, but every time I sit in a taxi around Arc de Triomphe, I feel an awful urge to ask the taxi driver to let me take over. It just seems to be such a challenge, like driving in New York or in Bangkok, and I have decided that I will face these three challenges before dying.Next week I am going to Paris, and I count on getting down with the Paris part. The unsuspecting Olivier has invited me out and instead of meeting him at the restaurant, I asked him to come and pick me up at my hotel in his car.
Amongst all the stupid things I have managed to say to my Jewish boy, I guess nothing will surprise him any more. So when I ask him to give me the car keys as God wants so, he will immediately hand them over.
Despite the 3 billion cars at Arc de Triomphe, I am not even nervous at all. It is a company car, so who cares if I have a little accident. And even if I fuck up Olivier’s car totally, it can only be partly my fault. The circus at Arc de Triomphe is the only place in France where any accident is always 50/50.
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