My man on the other end of the world is calling me. In Paris it is 11am. 7pm in Melbourne. He's going out for dinner. I show him Le petit livre des tartes et carpaccios I bought at a book stall in the rue Daguerre. I open the little cook book at random and find a withered four-leaf clover. The book is from 2004. Has its owner used the quota of luck which the clover is supposed to contain?
Laurent doesn't believe me. I insist. Then, it is his turn to marvel at something unexpected. On the road leading to his friends', glorious fireworks are illuminating the Yarra River in Melbourne. In our naivety we imagine immodestly that the city is already celebrating our reunion...
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