There were four of us in this big, old Peugeot 604, driving around a Parisian suburb looking for the venue. “ This can’t be right, check the map again, Jez “. Reaching to my left for the pocket atlas, opening it with my right hand to read, my ticket for the gig flew out of my hand. It swirled on a breeze and stopped yards ahead. I got out but as I approached a stronger breeze took it further away. This happened again, I chased downhill but the ticket flew, coming to rest on the roof of a scruffy house.
Neville Hunt about 1 year ago
Oh no! Quel bummer! Did you get smuggled in somehow?