Deleting some text messages from my phone tonight, I had these two in a row: “Yo, meet me in the square, next 2 the statue” and “je suis sur le pont” (I’m on the bridge).
Maybe it’s because I’m leaving Thursday to spend a month in Chicago, where it will be “corner of Grand and Michigan” or “outside Chipotle,” or maybe it’s just because these two meetings in question were visually out of a Truffaut film -- the one in the square, someone had mysteriously put a bunch of white flowers in the crook of the statue’s arm (to hold them for a moment while they ran some errands?), and in the second one there was a floppy haired boy waiting for me, watching the view over the canal outside of Chez Prune -- but they kind of made my insides turn to Velveeta.
Fine, I'm going to miss Paris. It'll be our little secret.