By walks a man with stacks of toilet paper upon his head. "I need toilet paper," I mumble to myself. I put down my soggy pizza, walk outside, make a harsh 'ssss' noise in his general direction (which serves for an 'excuse me, good sir!' in most of West Africa), and stand patiently as he turns around and heads back toward the cafe. "I'll take four rolls please!" (actually, in half-broken French, "could I .. si vous plais, cat ... rolls, yes those, yes the toilet paper, oui, cat rolls please!").
I take my toilet paper, walk back into the cafe, set it down next to my luxurious lunch, and continue eating with a smile--half the days shopping has just been done, without a store in sight.
Who? The only American on the trip aka Captain A-ME-rica! (pronounced very loud and with a burst of sound, with emphasis on the "ME") Who?
Where? Originally Pennsylvania (but that's OK) and now from somewhere close to Seattle
What? History and philosophy ( he is sitting reading Nietsche in the truck, for goodness sake!)
How? Not sure, but I feel safe in the knowledge that he does!
Tattoos? Not a one
Randall is the one or the right, dressed in mmmmmmm -- bottles?
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