Here I am, I lost my room key. Okay. It's after 11 p.m. I've been running about all day. I'm tired. I have to get up at the crack of dawn. I lost my room key. Maybe I'll just sit here and look up French phrases on the internet while crunching down Immodium and warbling aloud, "Cést Francois. Francois est une fille..."
Of course I might always ring up the Canadian foreign minister and ask if I can crash in his room. He's staying here. Yeah, that might work.
I have to find this room key. I have to get some sleep. Last night I got hardly any sleep. I kept dreaming about flying chickens and then we flew back to PAP, our driver picked us up and what did he have in the back in a box?
A live chicken.
Maybe I'm psychic.
We didn't have lunch today and I didn't have breakfast, because we were so busy. Then we got to the airport at Cap to find out our 1 p.m. flight was scheduled for nearly 3 p.m. arrghhhhhh...
I will find my room key. Maybe I will call one of those 800 psychic numbers to see where it is. Or ask them if they can figure out where I am... feeling homeless and a bit lost and a "fou blanc" (crazy white) in Haiti...