Nobody's Interesting Life

Madeleine and I arrived at the restaurant last; a cozy, affordable establishment in the ninth agrandissement . With the exception of Marie-Claire, our dinner companions were all friends of Madeleine’s and all students at La Sorbonne. We had a real united nations to dine with. Omar, an Egyptian. Estelle, a Jew. Patrick, a Christian (not only in word, but in deed). And Luc, who could not be described adequately by his religious affiliation or ethnicity, but rather by his claim to have read the entire Comédie Humaine – an accomplishment that, if true, would have endeared him to me, if only he wasn’t so oft to repeat it. Without fail, within a half-hour of any conversation, Luc would inevitably allude to his conquest of Balzac’s oeuvre. Moreover, every opinion or thought expressed by Luc, regardless of subject, seemed to find its origin in this story or that of the staggering collection. I once found the occasion to quote Aquinas to him: “Beware the man of one book.” Either the insinu...

I got off the metro one stop after the Japanese girl and walked to Le Danton . No one greeted me so I found a table at the window facing the street. A young male server approached. I ordered a café crème . He asked me if I would like to see the menu. “No,” I said. “Is André not working today?” I asked in French. “ Non ,” he said. “Are you Evan?” he asked in English. “ Oui. C’est moi .” “He left a letter for you. I will go to get it.” He held on to the menu. “French onion soup and a ham and cheese, that’s right?” I smiled. “That’s right. But just the coffee for now.” “ Bon . I will bring you the coffee and the letter.” I nodded and he went to do as he said. I had been coming to Le Danton to write for almost a year now. Madeleine would chide me about going to the Latin Quarter. She’d tell me it was a cliché and no longer a place for artists, but for wannabes and tourists. I’d tell her that I didn’t care and I liked it anyway. I liked the people and the atmosphere an...

After our sport, Madeleine went to the bathroom to take a shower. I went back to sleep. She woke me about an hour later to say goodbye and remind me of our dinner plans that night. She smelled the way women do and wore tight grey jeans and a black, scoop neck tee-shirt. I assured her I hadn't forgotten. She kissed me on the forehead and left for her morning class at La Sorbonne . I lay there staring at the ceiling a little while, letting the sun pouring in from the bedroom window warm my face. It was very comfortable under the giant duvet and I always had a rough time. Nevertheless, I extricated myself from the bed a few minutes later and made my way to the shower. Once clean, I ate a breakfast of eggs and sausage, washed the dishes, put on my own tee-shirt and jeans, and left for the Châtelet station. The walk through le Marais was as pleasant as ever. I resisted the smell of chocolate croissants and spinach and cheese paninis and arrived at the metro without incident. I go...

A man is strapping explosives to his body with the full intention of blowing himself and hundreds of innocent men, women, and children to eternity. A boy in Africa is being forced to kill his parents and rape his sister. While these things were happening, I was contemplating the stiffness of my erection as it moved in and out of Madeleine. Madeleine's last name was Paquette. She was a Parisian woman of twenty-four. Her father was a Frenchman with direct lineage to the reign of terror, and her mother was an Iranian. Or, as she preferred to call herself, Persian. Madeleine had inherited all the best features of her parents. She had dark skin and perfect ears like her mother. She was five feet, six inches tall and had retained her father's green eyes. She was one of those women that commanded a second look if you passed her on the street. Undeniably striking. In addition to benefiting from her parents genetically, she was also the recipient of their immense wealth. I was...

I wrote to her, On fickle paper and meager hopes, Could it be? Over? It was. And nobody was listening, And perhaps no one ever does. So ode to you, Woman You broke my heart (tore it to pieces really). I ate your chocolate, And vomited all over the sidewalk, For nothing really. Nothing at all. Now you have every card, But don't play a single one Still, I wrap my hand around what's left. Not for you, But for me. No, it's for you.

When I was young, my grandfather would tell me this story: An old woman found a dollar. She wanted a pig. She said, "I can get a pig. I can get a pig with this dollar." So she did. As she was walking the pig home, they came to a stile. The old woman said, "Pig, pig, jump over the stile, or I shan't get home tonight!" The pig said, "I won't jump over the stile." And he ran away. The old woman ran after him. Along the way the old woman met a dog. She said, "Dog, dog, bite pig. Pig won't jump over the stile, And I shan’t get home tonight." The dog said, "I won't bite pig." So the woman went a little further and she met a stick. She said, "Stick, stick, beat dog. Dog won't bite pig, Pig won't jump over the stile, And I shan’t get home tonight." The stick said, "I won't beat dog." So the woman went a little further and she met a fire. She said, "Fire, fire, burn stick. Stick won't beat...

I was conceived by God before the beginning of time. Before my grandfather died. Before my parents' got a divorce. Before there was such a thing as before. Three years prior to their divorce, I was concieved by my biological parents. Nine months prior to the first day of the second month, I left my Father to visit my Mother. Leaving dad's penis with about one hundred million other well meaning sperm, I made my way through my mother's uterus, took a breather in her cervix and witnessed the passing of thousands of my fellow travelers. That was my first encounter with death. I continued on the red-eye, flying through mom's fallopian tubes, got into my first fight just outside her zona pellucida and won. Nine months later mother pushed me out of her vagina. I was a quiet baby, but that didn't last. I continue to maintain a complicated love affair with silence to this day. All this may seem extraordinarily dull, trite and unoriginal. It is, after all, the beginning of th...