The Graffiti Girl

Night was falling fast—it was gloaming in an eerily quiet locked-down Paris. The night air was sweet and fragrant in the precociously warm air. It’s a quarter that I know well, although I’ve discovered many aspects that had been unknown to me as I am usually travelling.

I descended the stairs and looked up from my feet upon reaching the lower street and there she was peering out at me in a strange mix of the last natural rays of light and the intensifying acetylene lamplight. I gazed at her for a few moments—we were alone the two of us and the world melted away as I drifted into reverie. Then, as quickly as it had set in, my reverie dissipated and I continued my walk through the deepening night.