Sleepless in Paris

We're chewing baguettes and sipping wine in our apartment on the Left Bank. It's 10 p.m., and it's still daylight. Our fourth floor windows stand open. Pigeons coo. Somewhere, someone practices the flute.

We haven't slept since Friday night.

We think we're happy.

We'll know in the morning.

We will finish our meal, looking across the courtyard to see a man in his apartment reading at his open window, naked. Ah, gaie Paris, the City of Light! We won't say much more because this is a French keyboard, and some of the letters live in strange places.

We're lagged. Stay tuned. Zut alors!

copyright 2010 J. O'Brien