Fight Night

Last summer I was in Paris. My friend and I had a night we’ll never forget.

The bar in Pigalle

had dark blue walls dotted with small silver sequins.
For a second it made me feel I was at the planetarium but
then I remembered we were at a bar. 

Jess and I were the only ones in there, apart from the bartender-
a Mr.Tumnus looking geezer, who maintained a strict:

“No! No drinks aohht-seed!”
policy with us, which was especially jarring considering it was a cruel 34c. 

Surviving a Shit Show

We’re on a cobbled, narrow street in the 6th arrondissement, and either he’s trying to race me, or lose me.

In any case, he looks like a fucking show off.

He finally clocks I’m not beside him and turns around, only to locate me four feet behind, wedged between a pram and a man with a walking stick.