The Summer That Was
Once again I found myself walking the wondrous streets of Paris. As if in a haze, I walked by the grandeur of the buildings and their gorgeous french windows. It seemed to me as though they were longing to be opened by someone coming to smoke the last cigarette in his pack while watching the world go by beneath the wrought iron railings or perhaps yearning to have new lovers murmuring sweet nothings, sharing a coquettish grin with martinis in hand. The french, the say, are arrogant sons of bitches, rude and ridiculously proud and I say why not? They can, after all, put together clothes that look fresh out of the latest Spring collection. They have what it takes to look cool and detached in suits worn in that summer haze while using public transport. They do own the word grandiose and all that the word describes. Unlike my last time , there were no festivities in the air, people were going about doing their usual business. As opposed to the chilling cold of the last time, this time it f