6

several hours went by and my forehead sizzled in the sun that was surprisingly like the sun of southern new mexico. hitching in france is not easy. they're generally a very fearful population.

The Sad Icefarmers.

mister and madame chamberland - narbonne to thz. de corbierres.

i got in the car and my french stumbled. i misconjugated or something and the man, a smallish sad-looking pale thing with white hair said "you can talk ennglish if you'd like." his wife replied by saying something (in french) about lingua franca and the hospital, so we talked in french most of the way.

my french is fine (i no longer need to apologize, but i do anyway).

he had had an operation only a few months ago. he didnt say what it was. i therefor guessed it either had to do with sex or shit, and left him in private. he had moved from canada some 32 years ago and had an odd combination of a canadian accent and a southern (french) accent. so his Os were round and he had a tangy chang-chang- to everything. something like "Tomourrou I'll drink wayng."

when i was about to get out of the car i asked if i could take their picture. this was a big deal so we had to go back some 5 or 6 clicks up the road so that they could stand in front of an old house they had on the property. the wife, after not speaking a word the entire time, pointed out that the house was older than the united states. i ignored her but started talking in english from that point on.

martin gave me a handful of grapes. i put them in my bag. they drove me back to where i had asked them for their picture. they drove away. i hadn't eaten all day. the grapes tasted like honey and chocolate and leather and peaches and raspberry all at once. they stained my fingers and pants. when i got down to the last handful i decided a little documentation was in order.