Paris
Our next couch surfing host was a young man named Joel. Iroinically Joel's place was also undergoing renovation. 90% of his furniture was crammed into one room. For three days Joel slept someplace else. We saw him once when he returned to iron a shirt, once by accident and the first time when he gave us the key. He aplogized for not spending anytime with us but said the next time we're in Paris that his door would be open.
Kent