On Thursday, I was walking to Thanksgiving dinner in Greenwich Village when I came upon a man holding a map of the city. He looked up at me and said in a very thick accent: "I am lost! I am French!"
I almost didn't stop to help, because it sounded less like a plea for directions and more like a statement, an existential conundrum. All weekend, I've been repeating it, and it becomes more profound by the day.
"I am lost! I am French!"
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