It’s official now: when I’m old, I’ll be an asshole. Instead of empathizing with the poor people who (like me) didn’t think of booking their train seats in time and (unlike me) didn’t even bother to get to the station one hour early and not wait for the billboards to display the platform number to get into the train, I had to refrain from laughing when I watched the mess around me, people getting booted from reserved seats, others sitting crosslegged in the aisle — and it was only a train to Granville, not to the Alps or… a grand city. Yeah, even on Baby Jesus’s birthday I’m deeply, secretly, a misanthrope. When I was young, I didn’t imagine for a second that I’d become bitter as I grew older — and particularly not so soon!

I really do belong in Paris, don’t I? (he writes, remembering of the clichéd bitchy Parisians in the Sex and the City finale.)