ALL THE MEN IN PARIS — Chapter 7, 8 & 9
(Haven’t posted a chapter or three in a while, so here we are. Again, these are mostly raw and unedited, and an experiment in writing/sharing. The previous chapters provide major context. I mean. Obviously.)
Chapter Seven - You Fucking Cliché
I never wrote Mathieu back. Every second of that evening seemed like something that needed to be preserved and untainted with any sort of follow-up. It happened, and I planned to leave it at that.
I’d hopped out of bed at 7AM sharp despite the lagging jetlag and the parameters of last night, eager to get my hands on a pain au chocolat or buttery croissant, but even hungrier to devour Paris. Fred and François were on the patio sipping tiny espressos and smoking and reading the paper, and I appeared through the sliding glass door like the friendly ghost that had been living in their apartment for the last 24 hours.
“Ah, bonjour! We finally meet the famous Sara!”