He talked about spending a month living in Paris, of renting an apartment. He could work there, he said. For a brief moment I stopped listening to what he was saying. Paris. I loved those days we spent there. Ah, the beauty of it. Could we go? A month. An upper floor room, the windows open to the skyline. A curtain billowing in the breeze. The street smells of croissants, coffee, chocolate, the Seine, petrol fumes and cigarettes. Can we go?
