On est branché, quoi

C, L and I ventured out of our 17th arrondissement cocoon for Thursday night drinks in the 11th, at grungy Zéro Zéro bar. Casual drinks, mind. It is a work night after all, you foo.

A stamped hand (tax reasons, curious), coats off (parisian disguise gone), 3/4 large, ahmayzing caipiriñas each later downed to a backdrop of an eclectic string of truly bopping tunes from the manic DJ in the corner of this bar that's basically the size of your nan's front room (only covered from wall to wall, floor to nicotine stained ceiling with graffiti)...and these three bar hoggers are well and royally razzed. So we decide it is well time to order the bar's namesake tipple, of straight rhum mixed with lime and ginger.

The taxi ride home remains a somewhat blurry venture altogether not yet separate from nostalgic nausea.

This said we may have gone back for round 2 last night... too hip for our health.