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The city was stained with pink and gold, bathed in the dull light of the sun that disappeared before meeting the greenish waters of the Seine River. I just sat at the table where the gentle waiter with reddish cheeks suggested with a gesture of head, and absorbed the most banal behavior that pedestrians on Rue des Francs Bourgeois had. Someone laughed next to my table, and I realized how strong the Parisian accent was, differentiating them from the other French.

I turned the contents in my cup of coffee, causing small swirls in the strong drink softened by milk, and sighed, happy to feel so comfortable in miles away from the people who stained the image I had of my country of origin. It was as if the fresh air mixed with the candy of each confectionery around the length of that street could replace the smell of salt, lemon and verbena that Cannes had.

Couples crossed the sidewalk commenting vigorously on random subjects. Single people passed in front of glazed stores and admired the i