Ma nuit chez Blaireau

".........Et comme tout s'est déjà dit
Plutôt la vie"Old Blaireau was a few sheets to the wind, reciting poetry that sounded pretty good to me, though I didn't understand much of it. We were on our second bottle of pastis and Blaireau had forgotten to bring the water pitcher from the galley. "Va-z-y, va-z-y!" he said. I guess that means "drink it straight" in French, so what the hell, I says to myself. I was beginning to feel tipsy myself. We were on Blaireau's boat. I shoulda mentioned that already. The dude lives on a houseboat. When he goes on vacation he just shoves off and cruises down the waterways of Europe to wherever he wants to go. Home, mostly, to the southwest of France, where he says the food, drink and people are the best. I'll vouch for the food and drink part. Old Blaireau had more food on his boat than I've seen in some supermarkets. He kept on trotting out stuff that I had never heard of. He didn't know what it was called in English. Tasted great. Washed it all down with some kickass red wine then got into some 15 year old Armagnac. "On a besoin d'un bon digestif après un repas comme ça." Blaireau insisted. Well I was stuffed after that so we chilled for a while and he talked about his hometown and I told him about Miami Beach, my time with MBPD, my feud with Roy, the whole business with Noelle. He put some music on, jazz. I had a couple of mix CD's of Junior and Renaldo live, including a long version of "Cruising Down The River On A Sunday Afternoon." He dug that a lot, started singing along, kinda off-key. "Comme c'est chouette!" Well, that got him an appetite I guess 'cause he went back to the galley and came out with a snack tray and a bottle of pastis. So we listened to mellow jazz, singing along, drinking pastis and water, and nibbling. Next thing I know the bottle's empty and so is the tray and Blaireau gets up to get another but he's a little unsteady so I thinks maybe we should call it a night but I don't want to be a bad guest. Then I looks out the window and it's daylight. I thought it was midnight. Time flies when you're having fun. Would have been really cool if Renaldo and Junior were there too. Then the canal started getting busy with traffic. Something passed by and made the boat rock. Blaireau didn't notice; he was absorbed in reciting poetry. What the hell, I says to myself, how many times am I going to be in Paris. I filled my glass. He filled his. "à la vôtre!" he slurred with a lopsided grin.