World Cup, Caron de Beaumarchais-style

I'm just in it for the pizza.  And, the background noise as I write.  It reminds me of the comforting sound of American football on tv growing up with five brothers.  My favorite pizza guy, across the street, is Argentinian so, tonight, so am I.

I've turned a corner mood-wise.  It coulda gone either way, but the positive me won out.  She always wins.  There shouldn't have even been a struggle.  After all, I'm in Paris.  I guess it was fatigue.  Never mind.  Doesn't matter.  I'm back.

While I waited for my pizza, I sat at an outside table, smiling benevolently at the woman with the little dog wearing the I Heart LA tee shirt, the man who took a picture of the messy empty table next to me, the gay couples arm in arm, the young men in French Navy uniforms, the nun, people speaking German, French, Italian, English (with and without British accent) and more, singing soccer fans, the young woman with heels high enough to display the red "Clearance" dot on the underside of her new shoes... It's good to be me again.