France.

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Street in St Tropez. We spent an hour getting there, walked a few blocks to grab a döner kabap.

We walked to the piers with our döner kabaps, walked to where boats were tied, then ate them.

NOW a friend of mine in Germany tells me I shoulda gotten mine without the "special sauce".

After ingesting God-knows-what, we immediately got back in the car and drove the hour back to the villa. Could it GET any more exciting than that??

View of the water at St. Tropez, and one of the ubiquitous yachts.

I wanted to take a quick shot of the beast as we walked down a street in St. Tropez. This is how I saw him.

He could teach class in Dorcus, wore the latest from the Dorcus line of men's clothing, hunched over as he walked with that little cap, which made him look as though half his head was missing, and... picture this: he would "dance" along, raising his arms a little bit, bending his legs in time to some strange head music he was hearing as senility set in.

Here is why I was completely and entirely turned off to the whole idea of being in his company:

Toothpicks. Some people should never leave the house. And some should never, ever let anyone see them naked.

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