6 Jan

la nomade moderne

On the Tuesday following my jump, I woke up before my alarm rang, packed my bags, and was out the door at five thirty with my uncle on the way to Paris.  Once in town, I spent the rest of the early morning eagerly refreshing my computer, waiting for “in flight” to read “arrived” instead.  When I finally got my wish, I shot out into the streets, down the stairs to navigate the Métro, switching lines to arrive at Châtelet-Les Halles.  I took a seat by the window at La Pointe Saint Eustache, which I had chosen as a meeting spot five days earlier.  I read the French learner that my grandmother had used at NYU, where she took summer language classes as a girl, which she had passed on to me, full of short stories and fables, written with outdated expressions and the present tense.  A week ago, the…

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