There
are nights when your dreams are so real, that you feel the sidewalk
cracks underneath your shoes and the flakes from croissants fresh out of
the oven spread over your shirt. The coffee on the outside table
has long since cooled, but you sit there watching the people pass.
The act of lingering over a meal with a glass of wine or just listening
to the sound of language you can't understand but your ears adore.
Something about the narrow streets and old building can't help but charm the most die hard cynic. Paris, the city of Romance, isn't just for lovers; it's for people who love to walk (just beware of dog poo). Someone walks by with the latest designer clothes and high heels shoes. The air is perfumed with that one of a kind scent which can only be purchased at a small boutique on a certain street. And the displays at the high-end department store, Printemps, make you long for a size six body and American Express card. yet, after leaving heaven, your feet take you down a long sidewalk and past a cafe, then you sniff and choke on the strong odor of second-hand cigarette smoke. Amidst the burst of coughing and the struggle to breath, the dream ends and you wake up in Paris.
