Un signe

Oct 2. 2019, approx. 10:50 p.m.

Putain, says my new roommate, who happens to be Parisian.

Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ? I ask.

J’ai laissé tomber mon café. C’est un signe, je te jure. Angioline is in New York City on exchange for six months. It’s been great French practice for me, so far.

Pourquoi ? I hand her paper towels and a mop.

J’allais descendre en bas pour fumer une clope et tout d’un coup, j’ai renversé le café. C’est un signe. 

I am not convinced. T’es superstitieuse, toi ?

Un peu, she concedes.

Moi aussi, un peu. 


 

Fuck, says my roommate, who happens to be Parisian.

What is it? I ask.

I spilled my coffee. It’s a sign, I swear. Angioline is in New York City on exchange for six months. It’s been great French practice for me, so far.

Why? I hand her paper towels and a mop.

I was going downstairs to smoke a cigarette and all of a sudden, I spilled my coffee. It’s a sign.  

I am not convinced. Are you superstitious?

A bit, she concedes.

Me too. Somewhat.  

MC

Published by

thingsconsidered

I believe that: (1) language is the most powerful tool we have (2) that bravery is the most admirable quality in a person and (3) that the best is yet to come.

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