The third and final installment!
The place Elle had in mind was a small club called Rue Ville.
I was never much of a club-scene kind of guy. Not much of a dancer. Never really cared about mashing my body against the bodies of a few hundred of my dearest and closest total strangers. I said all of this to Elle multiple times as she dragged me from the train and around corner after corner until I was fairly sure even the GPS on my phone would be hopelessly lost here [...]
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Read the second installment of "The Three Reasons to Avoid Being Punched in the Face."
Elle had a thing for red.
“It’s bold,” she said. She’d said this more than once, as we perused the wares of the little clothing shop just a block from the record/comic/hot chocolate shop/post office, where I’d decided it would be a good idea to buy a new wardrobe for a near stranger. She had described nearly every item of clothing she’d picked up as some variation of ‘bold.’ The skirt was “pronounced.” The pants were “adventurous.” The gloves were “distinct.”
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