Sunday, June 19, 2016

A Cold Night In Paris


I remember it vividly. It was in this quaint little café just outside of Metro Saint Germain des Pres. I chose to sit outside where I can see people walking pass all clad in their dark woolen coats and thick scarves as they scrambled through the cobblestones in a cold night of Paris. I didn’t care, I wanted to witness it; the lights, the people, the hustle and bustle of the city, all while sitting here in this french woven chairs with its classic round tables. 

A few minutes later, a monsieur came up to me in his black and white two-piece garb. I knew what I wanted but before I could speak, I thought for a split second how handsome he looked despite being all consumed, his face tainted with the nights’ of work. I shoved the thought at the back of my head and focused on a beaten up sheet as he gently handed it over to me. I took a quick glance just for the gesture of it and returned it with an amicable smile. “Je vais avoir un confit de canard s'il vous plaît?” I said in my best french accent.  As he acknowledged and later served me with a plate full of richness, I thought of how amazing it is to just be here and be alive.