So anyway I ran into Sergio again last summer in Paris. He was on a turquoise Vespa and on the back was Calamari looking like some beautiful Italian movie star from the sixties wearing a black ponytail. I caught his eye and waved so he smiled, waved back, and drove over to say hi. He looked dapper and tan as usual and was full of good cheer and compliments, so we decided to go watch some of the French Open. Of course, Sergio knew so many people there and was entertaining them all with his stories so it gave me a chance to talk to Calamari a bit and catch up with them. She told me that Sergio was painting again and a few dealers in Paris were interested in his work, hence the visit. She also said they had met with some mysterious looking men who spoke Russian, and the next day had a rendezvous with some Americans in dark suits and white shirts. It all sounded too CIA to me, but it was typical for Sergio. I always wondered how he got his money. Was he a spy? A rich playboy? An artist? A musician? Who knows, but Calamari wasn't worried, so neither was I. At this point, the crowd clapped for an exciting point, and Sergio looked over at me and smiled as if to say 'It's warm, the sun's out, we're in Paris. What could be better.