Weekend in Paris
A short story of our unexpected weekend in Paris, which happened last November. We arrived at the airport and I had a feeling. Paris has been on my mind for a long time. J kept silent, he would just smile mysteriously under his moustache. I tried to see where he was looking on the departure board but didn’t quite manage to see the exact gate number he glanced at. Finally, we sat down near gate number 18, where people were slowly gathering and preparing for two flights: Birmingham and Paris. And then of course I knew. We arrived at Gars Du Nord around mid-day and decided to walk to our accommodation. One of the narrow streets we walked, hosted a flea market. We passed quite a few homeless men and women. Some of them had made themselves a bed out of old mattresses and their belongings in the unused entrances to banks and shops. It soon turned out that J booked us a room in a small hotel in the 9me arrondissement. We left our …