Last day of April.
Thought the New Yorker drawing was amusing in light of my art lessons, although it feels funny reading the New Yorker in Paris, in English no less.
Went to Graham’s but, as I still wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t stay. Took the cross-town 96 bus back to our place, a great way to see the city.
Sandy was in French, but, all in all, we didn’t do much today.
Had a late dinner at the bright, graciously-staffed, Le Florimond, 19, av de la Motte-Piqcuet, a lively bistro in the 7th. Sandy sat next to a regular whose late husband (he was 15 years her senior, she pointed out) worked with Charles de Gaulle/André Malraux, who told us a bit about those times in addition to what to order from the menu. She had to rush off by 10 to watch her son, a TV personality, to give him feedback and pointers, she said, about the show. She was charming. Otherwise, we heard much English spoken in the place, no doubt the result of inclusion in Lobrano’s Top 102 Paris restos.