I’m sitting at a small round table at a Starbucks at the corner of Crosby and Spring Streets, and I feel icky and look like hell but I don’t care because I’m not feeling quite as sick and submerged as I have since Saturday night, which was when a Paris virus invaded my blood. Constant fatigue, nausea, fever, aching muscles, weakness, sweat-sleeping …awful.

After a second night of ache and torment at my brother’s place last night (i.e., Sunday), the damn virus seems to be losing steam. I tried plugging in this morning at 4 ayem (I’m on Paris time, naturally) but the new AC adapter I bought in Paris suddenly wasn’t working, so I shlepped back to Manhattan on the 7:23 out of Norwalk and found an electronics store on Fifth Ave. and 39th. A pale-faced, yarmulke-wearing salesman took a look at my Paris-bought adapter (which cost me 80 Euros) and determined that only half of it wasn’t working, and he sold me a plug-in that fixed everything for only $10. On a plane back to LA at 4:45 today…