Johnny N.
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Came to Le Progres for a nightcap for our first night in Paris. I found myself at a table by the window in here, lost in this beautiful girl's big grey eyes across the table from me, locked in a profound conversation.
I was so locked in, in fact, that when the French waitress came over and asked what we wanted, I was beyond unprepared. I had just drank gallons of red wine in Croatia, and needed a day off from my beloved vino. There was a slight language barrier, so I didn't want to ask too much as I don't speak French and feel so disrespectful trying to have a long conversation in English in a foreign country.
I asked if they had any tequila on the rocks, and she said "margarita?"
"That sounds great," I responded. The last thing I wanted was a margarita, but sometimes you gotta put it on the game card.
There I sat, drinking a sugary margarita on our first night in France, talking the night away. Everything was as it should be. I felt like Hemingway.
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