mom won the lottery and gave 500€ to me just when paris called and came to 480.
like young patti smith finding the forgotten wallet with the cash she needed for the bus-ticket to new york, i too felt keenly saved by destiny.
i had persuaded my old patriot friend to join me in the city before i finally went home for christmas, and after an 11h train ride from bologna to paris (with a pitstop in milan where i bought a new black moleskine to document my travels), i had arrived.
and the city was as lovey as i remembered it.
i got on the metro and found a spot in the front, just before the window with a view of the parisian underground, the magnificent sound of french all around me. chatelet, les halles, barbès rochechouart. to me the voice reading the subway stops felt like the voice of an old friend.
speaking of old friends, i arrived to mine at one in the morning. she was in bed, pyjamas on, slightly delirious. i was ravenous, wired, and also slightly delirious. we chatted in bed over a bowl of buttered macaronis (our french staple), trying (but failing) to catch up on the last five months. we fell asleep in the small hours of the morning – awakening, much later, to a pink parisian skyline.