Roissy. Airport café. 11:52 a.m. Perched on a bar stool at a high round table. The leftover crusts of a prepackaged sandwich, the last cold sip of a mediocre café au lait in a paper cup. Gold tinsel garlands taped to the glass wall, the barest minimum of holiday cheer. Disembodied, unemotional, the soundtrack is a wave of flight announcements in alternating languages. I am not broken, but I am a little dented.