Today I was walking along a road in the south of France. A car pulled up next to me. The woman in the car rolled down her window and asked me a question in French. The thing is, I don’t speak French.

I took the flight to France a few days ago because I wanted to get away and France seemed like a place to go. Once I arrived in France, I felt like keeping to myself because I couldn’t speak the language, and thus I took to walking along the side of the road and eating figs from random fig forests along the freeway.

I shrugged at the driver. She repeated her words. I smiled. She said, “You don’t speak French?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “Would you like some figs?”

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