Well, hello from Paris! I've been doing some thinking here about what it means to be on the top of the food chain, and how it is we all came to achieve such heights. To be certain, opposable thumbs are at least partly responsible for the glory. Without them, how could we carve a blade, load a gun, or squirt ketchup from those little packets? The reason I write all this, folks, is because I think I've broken one of mine. See, doors open the wrong (read: unamerican) way here, and my little digit got stuck in the crack. Ow. Anway, the injury is making it quite difficult to, say, open bottles of wine by the Seine, wrest esargots from their shells, or surreptitiously feel up the tomatoes at the produce stands. You have to do
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