This being reality, Marco did not ride off into the sunset; he was left to his own (surprise of the year: coming back is far more difficult than departing), his hope of finding some way, any way, to return to France a distant mote of light in an increasingly-obscured sky.
Life goes on, however, and Marco’s post-Paris pictures serve as abject proof.
As he embraces the new world (or in this case, Port-of-Spain, Trinidad), Marco remembers to embrace his bottled water.
Marco embraces the return gaze of the abyss and decides that he rather likes the loaner Silverado.
Marco justifiably bitches about his third move in six months (Paris to corporate apartment to temporary apartment to house).
Marco enjoys a sunset in Memorial City before heading back downstairs for a boring-ass company party.
Marco finds the Dallas Eye a bit weird.
Marco has a quiet moment before seeing Nine Inch Nails in Las Colinas.
How did it come to this?
Marco finds himself in New Orleans, newly worried about encountering red alligators.