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Another Train Station at Dawnby Charlie
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He was. And within minutes the kind lad had found us a hotel room just down the Rue d' St Antoine and tucked away on some bustling side boulevard ridiculously chock full of creme cafes, skirted french dames, and citron presse.
And from there we wandered. Not even a shred of a plan at hand, just a map and an ATM card. Paris was sublime, sensual, home, a pleasure way beyond my expectations. We ate and meandered and drank and stumbled and smoked and walked and devoured the joint. Hookahs and towers and subways and rivers and boys and girls and gardens and alleys and a heartbreak at every turn.
I might have stayed forever, but y'know, there's all the rest. So after an exhausting sequence of subways, sprints, and half-understood directions, I located an Italian tour book five minutes before closing time, and by the next morning we were on a train for the Mediterranee. |
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