Life, and Other Absurdities.

But the mood is ruined when, 20 minutes later, after we have exhausted our song selection and our voices, and bowed out to a wild ovation before settling back at our table, we see a herd of familiar faces come through the crowd and toward us.

My heart sinks as the pack's leader, Donovan, lets out his typical "Heyyyy! Parrr-tay!" while lighting up a cigarette and pulling over a chair. Janine, Preston, Ben, and Asher are in tow, along with some frat-boy types from the hostel. A red-faced New Zealander shoves in next to me, forcing me into the space between benches.

So I squat between him and Dee-Dee, watching her capture the whole experience on video camera with gleeful narration, and I feel the anger rising strong. I'm the only one sober, the only one who seems to be disappointed that our unique experience has been ruined. I can't take the drunken antics and conversation, the superficiality and Americanness of it all. I need to get out, I need air.

So before I've said two civil words to the New Zealander I'm asking him to move, sorry, excuse me, where am I going? asks Donovan, back to the hotel, I avoid eye contact with them, I don't feel compelled to leave any excuses, they're too drunk to remember anyway and all that matters is my escape.

Back on the dark streets of Bayeaux, a depressed, hollow feeling returns.