I am in Paris walking across the Place Vendome eating my breakfast, an almond croissant, when I hear the sonaric ping from my phone indicating that there is a new message waiting for me. Not many people know I am here and so I reach for the phone to see who it could be, layering my chest pocket with powdered sugar and almond slivers. The message is from Peter and so I spin the wheel on my Blackberry and begin to read.  

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