Woke up to rain on my 52nd birthday in a canopied hotel room in Paris. Beside my rumpled bed, a warm croissant and a skinny white candle, delivered by room service. I blow it out, no wish but to be exactly where I am. Throw on worn Levi’s, a white t-shirt, and wander the puddled streets alone. Marvel at chic proprietors in their curios shops, the ambrosia of fresh baked bread, stirring glances from strangers. A deep glass of Bordeaux intoxicates my senses. Bicycle bell dings, a spoon clanks inside a glass, smoke wafts in my nose like a cartoon ribbon. Kids with sweatshirts slung over their shoulders take turns pushing a soccer ball down an uneven sidewalk. On y va!
