Getting lost in Paris is easy. Hubbie tells me (and I concur) that the city was not built on a grid, so the streets randomly go in all directions. Although I’m sure if we asked the right person there would be a method to the randomness.
I feel like the unwinding is finally beginning. Perhaps because I’m not jet lagged anymore, perhaps because our place in Paris is this perfect little studio in a perfect part of town.
I feel so good; hanging out in the flat that looks upon this church that’s seen hundreds of years of life, listening to a Parisian radio station that is playing the greatest mix of music I wish I could download to my iTunes, practicing the French I haven’t used since junior high school, and discovering all the nooks and crevices that you do when you get lost.
I tell hubbie we need agents, so that they can arrange for us to write our next book, script, masterpiece…right here in this perfect little studio. And take some French lessons.