Paris

It was when I was half asleep in the back of my friend's pickup truck, staring out the frosty glass, that the memory came back to me.

I stepped out of my hotel into the brisk midday air. We made a right. Our street was narrow, and cars were lined up on each side of it. The wheels were on the wrong side. The license plates were yellow. Huh.

I turned the corner into a square with another right. So many rights. There were lots of people in the square but I saw no faces. I was looking up toward the horizon because I knew the Eiffel Tower was back there in the yellowblue sky but I could not see it.

Maybe we could visit Samuel again, the nice waiter who served me shrimp pasta at the Rue Rivoli cafe. But that was not the plan for today.

We went into the Ritz onto the right side of the square. A man in a suit opened the door. They asked for a reservation- and we had one.

We sat down, just the two of us. A French girl in a blue dress with blonde hair sat next to me. I remember because she laughed when a bird flew near my head and scared me.

Little statues adorned the restaurant. The butter had an 'R' carved into it. The restrooms had really nice stall doors. It was a good day.

The food was delivered very minimalistically. I remember not wanting to ruin the decoration of the chefs but I did because I felt like I had to.