My wine tastes bubbly and sweet and shamelessly friendly, and I'm feeling friendly, so I ask the guy behind the bar if he knows anything about Paris. It's sort of my go-to question lately, and I ask it of anybody who seems interesting or seems knowledgeable about food, or wine, or whatever.
He looks at me seriously for a second, and then dashes off to grab something to write with.
"Pookie's four-a-day," Katie sings to herself, smiling, sipping the last of her wine.
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