Dorotheé teaches French on the veranda.
“Je m’appelle Andrew. Vous avez les belles yeux.”
She laughs at me. When she eventually agrees to date, we frequent the best restaurants de Lyon. She falls for me, of course.
Devoted, pretty eyes look remarkable on a severed head.
Nobody laughs at me.
One thought on “The Terrible Tales of Andrew Tanglewood Part i) Dorotheé”
Avoiding the letter I