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Trust Machines - Summer in ParisParis in the summer was stifling. I had hoped that it would prove romantic, but the heat in August proved anything but. Even the Seine was slow and sluggish. It was obvious why the city was half-empty.
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As a last resort, I tried going up the Eiffel tower to see if the air was cooler up there. While the breezes were a distinct improvement, and the view was spectacular, it seemed like half of the remaining population of the city had had the same idea.
In the elevator going down, I grumbled, “This is not what I came here for.”
A nearby voice replied, “I hear you, it’s just too darn hot for romance,” in a familiar southern drawl.
I turned to my neighbour and asked him, “Are you from Texas too?”
I gave him a once-over as I shook his hand. He was an attractive young man in his early twenties, about my age, though he was slight of build—more of a runner or dancer than a linebacker.