“I’m going to get up every morning and shave over a basin and then put on a suit. Sharp. I’m going to walk down a street made of little stones. There will be baskets of flowers depending from iron hooks mortared into the stuccoed buildings. The dogs will lift their heads but not bark as I pass by. I will have a cane, for no particular reason. I will buy a newspaper in the wrong language and a baguette, and pay with some form of coin. No matter what it costs, it has to be paid for with coins.”
Joy of joys, I fly to Nice tomorrow morning and thence into the beautiful of Provence.