My Brazilian friend emailed me this evening offering condolences on my breakup. He asked me if I have a wild horse inside me. Meanwhile, I had a glass of Pinot Noir and soup a l'onion at the French Bistro in Piermont and met a French baker that invited me to come make marzipan roses with him in his bakery. Then, from what I could make out with his thick Marseille accent, he told me that I should do what I've always dreamed of doing but never did. I hope my wild horse doesn't trample the roses.
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