Rainy Days

No sooner then I hung up the phone from my favorite daily call to the States did the skies break open with thunder, lightening, and sheets upon sheets of rain. An umbrella just wasn’t one of things I thought to pack, either. And my car leaks when it rains.

I stood inside the phone booth (my cell doesn’t work and this house has no phone) watching the tears of rain stream down its side, took one look at my silk top and white pants, and knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. But I took a breath and began my walk of shame home… Needless to say, I think the patrons dining at Chez Camille got more than what they paid for when I walked by dripping wet.



But now I am here, inside, and happy. The dry part will come later. It sucks when it rains on the beach. It sure smells nice, though.

So yea! I got a job today! I think… After stopping at every single beachside restaurant, speaking lovely French, begging for a job, one woman finally suggested the grand époque/old Parisian cabaret style restaurant StefanoForever. It isn’t exactly hiring, but the Italian who owns it loves me and wants to find something for me. I work tomorrow and Sunday, and who knows when else…

I feel like a gypsy. Unpack your clothes somewhere, work someplace one night, make some money, run out of cash, move to a different place, find a new place to work for a night, get some money… and drive a shitty car.

I was hoping to go to the local bar and practice speaking French tonight, but I guess I’m trapped till the rain stops.

Bon soir…