When good Americans die, they go to Paris,’ the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. But you’re not dead. I suppose the question must be, are you good?
When good Americans die, they go to Paris,’ the ghost said,
When good Americans die, they go to Paris,’ the ghost said, after taking a drag on a small cigarette. But you’re not dead. I suppose the question must be, are you good?
