I’m standing on rue de Rivoli around 8 o’clock on a morning in March. It is here that I meet up with my two Australian clients for a walk around Paris.
The rain has just stopped its pouring and there are still puddles on the sidewalks where the sunlight reflects off the water. A day with two long-time friends…The warm baguette cooling as we walk beneath the rain, our stories, bursts of laughter, the grand clock of the Musée d’Orsay, their memories, my memories, our wrinkles that widen, a medieval street, our rain coats flying in the wind, the sad accordion, the elegant hat of one of the women, the grandmother sweater of the other. The merging of our tall silhouettes crossing the Louis Philippe bridge.
Looking for shelter, taking a seat, a tiny wobbly table, the dim lighting, Baudelaire, our lives, children, divorces, marriages, hot chocolate with whipped cream for all three of us.
Our fingers on the cup. Our eyes drifting off into space. The cry of the seagulls.
It’s been four years now. Places leave memories, certainly, but people…