The Mouse That Roared

I studied in Paris, France for four months.

The picture on my computer desktop is:

Isn’t it beautiful?

To get here, you take the number 6 Metro to Bir Hakim. Exit to the left, and go down the stairs. Take a right outside of the metro station, and you’ll cross a street towards a stand that has the best crepes in Paris. And a very nice, talkative creperie artist. Is that what they’re called?

Round the corner, and you’ll see her for the first time. Standing tall. Keep walking, and at the corner with the second souvenir stand, take a right, and then on the next block, among the pricey apartments and scooters, there she is again. And there’s a small dirt path that you can take, which makes you feel as if this experience were somehow unique to you alone, to an area where there are a few benches, to the southwest of the tower. And you can sit there, with the pond in front of you, and her thick, iron legs reflected back like underwater fire.

My heart is bursting with it all. Do you know what I did? Do you know? I lived in Paris! For four months! Oh, there is nothing like her. She is my soulmate. And goodness, how I miss her.