Overheard in Paris

"Quand ça boit, ça couche!*" the 13-year-old intoned knowingly into his mobile dernier cri. My ears pricked up at this sage observation, and I stared blatantly at the pubescent beanpole in a fitted Lacoste polo and battered sneakers sauntering down the sidewalk. Following his shrinking figure with my eyes, I strained my ears to glean more pearls dropping from the preternaturally wise boy's lips.

Eventually I gathered my wits and got back to my reading. Material for my own litany laïque is boundless, it seems.

* When there's drinking, there's laying!