I guess I must be the kind of person that everyone thinks they can talk to because I often find myself approached by complete strangers who wish to tell me things. My friend Abbie once suggested that's simply because I look nice.
Back in the days when I visited Paris on a regular basis, I remember my first time in Père Lachaise cemetary, wandering around with a map unfolded, trying to locate the grave of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, a phenomenologist philospher I was crazy about at university. Looking across to my left, I noticed a middle aged man following my movements in the parallel alley. I'm not sure how long he'd been there but within seconds he was standing close to me and offered to show me the grave of Simone Signoret and Yves Montand. For some reason, I politely accepted which made it possible for him to tell me that he came from the midi region, that he was dying to take me out for lunch and then go back to his place together. I asked him whether he went there often to pick up girls, "Oh sometimes", he replied, "Ça dépend des jours. " Suppressing a smile, I explained that my Mum would be meeting me in around ten minutes and that in any case, I still needed to find where Merleau-Ponty was buried. Disgusted that I wanted to waste my time looking for someone he'd never even heard off, he left in search of easier targets. Since then, I've been approached by countless other drageurs who wanted to come under my umbrella or share my Kitkat.
Yet it isn't just the lonely hearts keen to have a chat.