last dispatch from paris, or the most expensive drink ever

So I found this on my laptop. I think I nursed a bottle of wine to sleep that night on top of all the drinks at an amazing dinner, and of course, this bar. Things must've gotten foggy. I thought I posted it. Turns out I wrote it in Word:

I always thought that New Yorkers paid way too much for their drinks. Well, after tonight I can say that they have nothing on Paris. After having an amazing meal, which also didn’t come cheaply, but which we were prepared for, L and M wanted to go the Ritz to have a drink. I wasn’t super interested at first and sort of reluctantly went along, but once there I noticed they had a room called Bar Hemmingway. Okay, I could deal with that.

The bartender told me that I needed a stiff man-sized drink and proceeded to pour me a raspberry vodka. It was very strong and quite tasty, but it did have that girly pink glow to it. It went down well though, and if I hadn’t helped L finish a little of her drink, I probably would have ordered another one. “One drink? Most people have sixteen or seventeen here…you start over there and have five or six, and then you move over here.” They just about sold me, but L shot me a nasty look when she saw that I was thinking about it.

So I turned it down. We had to catch the Metro before it closed for the night. It was already nearly midnight. I gave the universal “check please” sign and I, being the gentleman and all, was presented the check. 75 euros for three drinks, one of which was non-alcoholic. My raspberry vodka alone was 28 euros. Yeouch. That amount would get me through some entire days in Spain. Oh well, I drank where Hemmingway probably drank. I got to see his guns, numerous photos and a couple old typewriters. It seemed like a nice enough way to bid farewell to this city. Although I really should be writing about that dinner. But that takes some perspective and metal clarity, and I guess I’m still feeling the effects of that cocktail. Goodbye Paris.