A big man named Hubert, a jazz singer, a skydiver, and a wife with a leopard print purse. It wasn’t a joke. The evening felt like something from a Hemingway novel. The Sun Also Rises, perhaps. But we weren’t in Paris. We were in Chartres. And it was 2020, not 1920. My point? Read Hemingway’s novel mentioned above, or at least the book’s epigram.