8ème

Sonnet and I sit outside Cafe Ambasade facing the pretty Frenchies walking determinedly to their work on Rue du Faubourge St Honoré which, Dear Reader, we know is the shopping avenue of Paris. The men own pointy shoes and tussled hair while the young ladies with black leggings or flair trousers, capes, or fur shawls; they walk with the unusual lope of the model. The travailleurs boutique are as pretty as their wares.

Meanwhile we have pain au chocolat and tartine with raspberry jam+coffee and life is good. I completely, and I mean completely, forget about the kids. Astorg's fifth fund over-subscribed without much surprise as their prior three partnerships world beaters. We discuss allocations and cut backs which is never fun since a lot of guys have put real work into their due diligence. Those slow to the draw, suffer. Prior fund-raisings not so easy and nothing taken for granted nor relationships neglected. How extraordinary to enjoy this unique friendship - from California to the 8th arrondisement. Go figure.

Sonnet: "Thank you for giving us an evening in Paris."

Madeleine: "Was it romantic?"

Sonnet: "Yes, it was."

Madeleine: "Did you eat buttered snails?"

Sonnet: "As a matter of fact we did."

Madeleine: "Woa."