Tuesday, December 3


Back in Paris one can always choose what to focus on. You can focus on the homeless people in front of Gare du Nord, the ones that are drunk, sitting on the street next to their big dogs and cardboard boxes. You can focus on the smell of urine as you exit the station, the beggars wanting to read your palm, the cheap fast-food restaurants opposite the street where you once kissed a friend goodbye, a friend you haven’t seen in years. Or you can focus on the skinny girls wearing nice dresses, the possible smell of Chanel in their raincoats, the bakery which always sells the pastries that you love. And so you focus, you take the metro with your big suitcase, knowing that wherever it is you are going you brought too many shoes. You exit the metro and inhale the smells of Paris, the smell of poverty, the smell of riches, the smell of wanting love and finding what you want. You wish you had a different haircut, a nicer outfit, some decent jewelry, a song that you could sing out loud. You exit the metro knowing you don’t have to wait anymore. He is there, just like you imagined him to be, taking your suitcase, smiling, asking you how you are.