[noir 17] Parlez-vous français?

“And that’s how I ended up here,” I said to the man with the long, grey beard.

“Je ne parle pas anglais,” said the man, with a shrug.

“He doesn’t know anything but French,” said a hippie with dreadlocks and bloodshot eyes. He laughed. “But, man, I thought your story was great.”

“Thanks,” I replied, feeling a little out of place.

The Afterlife would take some getting used to.

This was great fun to write! I hope everyone enjoyed it.

I tied a couple other stories into this one. First, the murder at WFCY, which can be read about here:

Secondly, the doorbell rang during Making Peace. Here’s what happened:

This story wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for MJY’s piece for the Profile An Author contest. You can read his work here:

Thanks to everyone for your enthusiasm and support! Hope you didn’t mind me killing you all… (Except Auralia of course.)

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