“You mean to tell me I missed that Paris train by three minutes? What are you Bretons tryna do, keep me here?”
BUT I GOT SO FASCINATED BY OLD DE LOUDÉAC, AND not one taxi outside on Rue de Siam, I had to hurry with that 70 pound suitcase in my paw, switching it from paw to paw, and missed my train to Paris by, count it, three minutes.
And I had to wait eight hours till eleven in the cafes around the station—I told the yard switchmen: “You mean to tell me I missed that Paris train by three minutes? What are you Bretons tryna do, keep me here?” I went over to the deadend blocks and pressed against the oiled cylinder to see if it would give and it did so now at least I could write a letter (that’ll be the day) back to Southern Pacific railroad brakemen now train masters and oldheads that in France they couple different, which I s’pose sounds like a dirty postcard, but it’s true, but dingblast it I’ve lost ten pounds running from Ulysse Lebris’ restaurant to the station (one mile) with that bag, alright, shove it, I’ll store the bag in baggage and drink for eight hours—
