luxury

“I want to write a book about nothing,” he said. “About ordinary lives. Plain. Uneventful. Boring even. There’s happiness there. That’s life.” I looked at him from across the table. I commended his ambition. All the same, I could see past his lie. He would not be happy with an ordinary life. I don’t think I would be either.

There was inspiration to be had in Paris. Not in the architecture and the art, the third spaces and the food. There was inspiration in the people that were not from Paris, but people I would not have met otherwise. Sarah, so strong headed and strong willed, with no doubts about her value, no doubts about herself. She throws herself into chaos, she talks like a god. She tells me to better myself. Who am I to ignore such a call to action. Aaron, intelligent beyond measure in the most gentle way. A good person. A caring person. Someone who cares so much about everyone that they meet, really sees them all, yet defined now by one mistake. He says we subs need to stand up for ourselves. He tells me to read a book. He quotes some philosophy I don’t remember now. He sits at the bistro and tells me about his dad’s onion soup. I let him hold the umbrella as he walks me back to the hotel in the rain. He tells me about his friend, like me. It can be my world too, he says. Of course it can be, I think, why on earth did I ever think it couldn’t be?

Jasmine and I had beef bourguignon, and I decided I wanted to learn how to make that myself. I saw a dress I liked and asked them to take it off the wall. We walked into a club. We walked all the streets. No one stopped me. And all was well.