Parisian Perusing

On a night out in Paris I lost my friend. I quickly gave up my attempts to find him and made my way out of the party. Whilst walking away from the party I attempted to look for the closest metro station, only to learn that at this point, so late in the evening, the metro in Paris closes. I began to worry. I had no sense of where I was, I was a tad drunk and it was very early in the evening. Suddenly a man approached me. I began to worry even more but, given my semi-drunk state, when he entered into conversation I responded and we began to chat. Before I knew it we were sitting in a side street which he had taken me to whilst he offered me cocaine and weed and professed his love to me. We sat there for at least 45 minutes until I made a dash for it, politely thanking him for his offers of illicit substances and unbound devotion.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, still having no idea where I was or in which direction I should have been heading. The side street and my adoring fan were starting to look pretty good. Then eventually I noticed a couple hailing a cab. A cab! Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that!?

I hailed down a cab too and was quickly on my way home, or so I thought.

The cab driver kept telling me the whole way home how beautiful I was, which was flattering but slightly off-putting. Eventually he stopped at a place that wasn’t my house. As I explained that he’d gotten the wrong address he turned and looked at me confused.

“I’m not a cab driver you know,” he said.

I began to fiddle with my seatbelt, trying to untangle myself from yet another disastrous situation.

“I can take you there if you’d like, if you kiss me,” he continued. I reached for the door.

“Or I could pay you,” he went on. And then I was off, I ran down the road until I found myself another cab, an actual cab, with a sign and a light and everything. I was thrilled, the nightmare was over. Or so I thought.

Once again the cab driver told me I was beautiful, which made me even more uncomfortable this time as he was much older and considerably creepier looking. As we got closer to my house I gave him a fake address and told him I’d need to go to the nearest ATM.

“You know,” he started, turning to look at me.

“You don’t have to pay if you let me touch you.”

“Nothing bad,” he said, noting the expression on my face.

“Just like this,” he continued and put his hand on my leg. I quickly gave him the money and ran off to my building.

Finally, I was home. It was all over.