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Later in the evening, as Colby and I walked from his apartment to mine, two twelve-year-old boys sped past us, mocking, "French is cool! French is cool!" and then pointed at me and said, "Tourist." Then they walked casually and often turned around to look at us.
I yelled, "Discoteque?" back at them, which is not universally funny, but Colby whistled at them as though they were attractive women for the next two blocks. Then he poked in a code to open the gate wall of my apartment complex, and as I said, "Bon soir," to Charlie Chaplin's daughter and her husband, I felt proud to be a Parisian.
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