Gain. Again.

Last time in Paris was my first time. I had fallen in love in Costa Rica and I had followed my man all the way to London. I was on my way home but I was to meet a friend in Paris. It was all going to be a dream I thought. We lived in her little apartment on the lowest floor of the house. The owner was a gay man who was living with his lover. A play write. My friend the aspiring actress tooke me to her classes. She played a fat prostitute while the sweet mademoiselles with French passports played wives. Her teacher told her her french was horrendous and that she was tres vulgar. I understood nothing and my heart was filled with pride. She was my star! On the nights we drank wine at the Seine and discussed life. Mostly the young boy that she so adored. We visited Centre Pompdou, climbed on top of the Eiffel Tower and had a lie down at Sacre Couer. We bought earrings that say 'Love' in neon green. It was all nice. So nice that after a year I know start to forget the amount of la putain looks from the greasy men, the little boys who were so high on glue that they did not care who they were selling themselves to and the dirt. The amount of dirt in that city. You forget. And I am almost, almost ready to embrace the city again.

- E