‘You come from Clichy now?’ She asks. ‘I do. I go back to my hostel to sleep. Have to get up early,’ He lies, playing the game, ‘Have to go ...ight to sleep when I get back. No more fun tonight.’ ‘No more fun,’ She pouts and nods her head in the direction from which he had just come, back toward Clichy. ‘How is she?’ Camille knows what he’d been up to, knows all about the Dutch girl who had fled to Paris from Holland and had ended up, coincidentally, living in an apartment overlooking Rue. I am thinking shit, now what do I do. I sigh and put my driver’s side window down. Our cars are about 15 feet apart. He said “Good evening, what are you doing out so late tonight?” I don’t really have a good answer and I mumble, “Oh nothing really just trying to get a feel for the area and see what there is to see. (This is a tourist section) It couldn’t have sounded more stupid and lame. He asked me if I was visiting and where I was staying so I told him. Then he asked “Anything happening on. More

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