Tard.

Late.

My train from Montpellier to Nice left twenty minutes late. As a result, I missed my connecting train to Ventimiglia. I should have just hopped on the very next train, which was leaving in a few minutes, and known that it wasn't a big deal. Instead, I fretted, and stood in line for fifteen minutes to be told that, indeed, it wasn't a big deal at all, and that I should just get on the next train. Which now is forty minutes away, not a few. I am a pussy. Not an old, wizened one like those French whores have, but a timid, naïve one.

I hope I make it to Ventimiglia before the last train leaves for Florence. I really don't want to spend the night in a small Italian train station.