For our last three nights in France, Kellie found an ocean front room at the end of the beach in Old Town Nice. If she would let me, I would just sit on our balcony reading and writing. I would have to throw something at that guy with the lawn mower since he’s making too much damn noise, louder even than all those annoying little motor scooters, which, by the way, appear to be exempt from all traffic regulations.
We have not done much since arriving here yesterday, mostly just killing time between meals that seem to last almost two hours. It’s nearly 10 a.m. now and Kellie has not deemed it necessary to roll out of bed yet. She’s paging through Rick Steve’s France 2011 so I fear that my peaceful morning is about to end.
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