I got off the Metro at Glacier, a tortured soul. It was obvious I shouldn't have come.
Paris wasn't the city of lights in the 13th Arrondissment, with only a Boulanger in the middle of the block and a café on the corner of Rue Boussingout that made, ironically, great Spaghetti Bolognese. They were closed.
Up the block I went, but my mind was on a girl back home who I wished I could call, but I wouldn’t. A phone call now would have little fanfare associated with it. Too little time had passed and the love triangle I had created caused hurt that wouldn’t have gone away in the past six months.
We’d met a few years ago and immediately fell in love. If I’d been older and farther along in school, we’d have been married. But we waited and eventually, I’d screwed it all up. She had her moments too, but it was mostly me. C’est la vie...mais…
A firecracker went off in the distance. More war protests…ugh. Every night it seemed, they paraded up and down the streets shouting slogans and carrying torches. I arrived at No. 42 and went upstairs.
The apartment was empty and cold.
~dt ran away to study in Paris during the first gulf war…
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