We went to a French
Bistro the other evening. The food was wonderful.
The atmosphere was
charming. The music was wartime French—WWII.
And the man who
waited on us spoke with a lovely French accent.
We’re pretty sure he’s
the owner.
“Where are you
from?” my wife asked.
“From Paris,” he
answered.
“You came to
Albuquerque from Paris. Why did you leave Paris?” she asked.
“Too many French,”
he replied.
Well, I thought it
was funny.
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