Tell me, Jean-Paul, am I right?

First thing I noticed. He's a soft-spoken man. With a foreign accent. Maybe German. Curious me. I asked.  His name, Jean-Paul, is a giveaway. Nothing can be more French. Another stranger. We met. In a camera store. In Sedona, Arizona. He's the clerk I talked to. Inquiring about a battery charger for my digital camera. I had lost mine. He offered to charge the battery. For $5. Great. I left the battery there. To be picked up in two hours. He used a charger other than the one designed for my camera. When I returned, I thought, why not buy the same kind of charger he used? That's what I did. For $50. But I insisted on a bonus. A conversation with Jean-Paul. Lo and behold, he's spent most of his life as a journalist. A writer. Like me. Mostly, he's written about South America.  He's become something of a world traveler. Just happened to settle in Sedona. Really, it's paradise.  Doesn't matter that he's merely clerking in a camera store. It's a living. And for the moment, there's nothing better than being Jean-Paul in Sedona. I'm sure he still writes. Whenever he feels like it. I suspect we were destined to meet.  I'd like to read his stuff. And learn more about Jean-Paul. No doubt, he's living an interesting life. I sense it. Tell me, Jean-Paul, am I right? --Jim Broede