Standing at street’s edge; waiting for the light.
A dynamic, vibrant, bustling world class city.
Next to us a young woman stands, waiting.
Poised, stylish, together, confident in her own skin kind of way.
An unlit cigarette in hand.
The signature scarf worn in that effortless and elegant way;
the way of Parisian women.
We catch a moment’s contact of eyes
and then return to our impersonal, stoic forward stares.
I sense movement to my left and turn.
She leans in, so subtly in her graceful way.
Parlez vous Francais?
She had not pegged us as tourists.
There was the chance.
She had to ask.
But my eyes said more.