Germany before Paris

I'm in the Frankfurt Airport, or as the always-so-pleasantly-super-serious Germans call it, Flughafen Frankfurt am Main, or Rhein-Main-Flughafen. My connecting flight to Paris was cancelled, but I've been rebooked on another flight, but I should still arrive just in time to meet my friend 妹妹 in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, which is where I'll stay for the next week.

My flight from Orlando to Frankfurt was an overnight flight, on the heels of a bacterial infection lasting more than two weeks. I had a middle seat, making sleep difficult. After a couple of hours of restless sleep, the woman next to me invited me to lean up against her seat. Jokingly, I smiled and said, "Presumptuous," to which she replied, "I'm sorry, I don't speak German."

Had I known my layover was going to be five hours and not two, I would've gone right to sleep on these cots when I landed.

Instead I ate some Gulaschsuppe (Goulash soup) with pork. It was so good, I nearly licked the bowl clean.

In between my first and second Ambien.