Packing Heat in the Paris Metro

No, not me. My brother from Thailand. WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY PETER MOORE

NOTE TO READERS: Don’t you hate it when writers feel they need to lecture you on what you’re about to read? I do, and here I am, lecturing you! As if you’re too dumb to figure out that this is an excerpt from my forthcoming illustrated memoir, of my own coming-of-age moment in Paris and on The Continent, and that the most recent excerpt I ran (about Samuel Pepys, and his technique of hands-free masturbation) was way back in October, before I took off for France for a month. Anyway, I’m back at it, based on about six million (yikes!) words worth of daily journal entries I’ve made since October 12, 1978. Take that, Samuel Pepys! End of finger-pointing lecture. I’ll let you read now.

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BEFORE I LEFT FOR THE CONTINENT, I had one final visitor to entertain in Paris. 

One of the consequences of my father’s immersion in The National Geographic was his lengthening to-do list …