Most of our second day in Paris was spent one culturally significant endeavors...
|274 Steps to the top of the Arc de Triomphe|
|Inside the Louvre, looking up through the pyramid.|
|The famous symbol of France!|
While bar hopping through the Bastille District, Mr. GayMess and I had the following conversation:
Mr. GayMess: I just got pick pocketed by a gay man.Then while discussing our insecurities with speaking French:
Me: I didnt know you had a hand job!
Mr. GayMess: NOOO. It was a pick pocket.
Me: By a gay man?
Mr. GayMess: Yes. But he didnt find anything.
Me: So... it WAS a hand job.
Mr. GayMess: I want to speak to them, but I know that I will just look crazy.
Me: Yeah, Foreign people are a lot like ghosts... You see them, but you never speak TO them because you aren't crazy.
Mr. GayMess: *gesturing to the old man behind him with white hair like Einstein*... Or because their hair frightens the fuck out of you and you can't look at them.