We started with champagne as apero, continued with wine during dinner, finished with coffee...Irish, it had to be. We danced, smoked a Cuban cigar, sang, tried to go out but the cab did not come, and by 3 am one by one we started falling like dead flies.
I thought of Alexandre Dumas and his musketeers last night. d'Artagnan was my favorite and while reading the books, I was staying up until 6 am captivated by the adventures, the intrigues, the tension, and of course, the jokes and funny situations in which they always got themselves. Mr Dumas came to my mind because it felt like he would be the most appropriate to write about our happy encounter. Just like he describes the feasts in some French inn with Porthos eating too much, Athos and Artemis being the usual gentlemen, and d'Artagnan flirting with one of the inn keepers, Dumas could have written about our dinner in Metz last night.
Some other writer would have to write about the visit to the the Metz Pompidou Center and to the Christmas market where we had a well deserved hot wine.
Bacovia (Romanian symbolist poet) would definitely be the one to write about the Sunday night...it would have the lead tone.
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