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Strolling back to my apartment, in the cool night air, I noticed the streets were quiet, compared to the bustling crowds of the past two weeks.  When I left the  l’Etoile Manquante cafe, it was much quieter than usual, in fact I was the last to leave, with two more hours left, before closing.  The …

My time in Paris is running out.  I want to lie, face down on the apartment floor and bang my hands and feet in rage and scream I don’t want to go. Une enfant, the French would call me, a child,  but that is how I feel. Now that reality has hit, I need to …