I was in Paris this weekend.

It is a city only like itself. I ate pigeon and saw paintings and on Saturday night I wound up at a bar that was far too much of a ‘scene’ for me to enjoy or fit in. I met a Swedish architect who didn’t seem to like it either and was a little bit crazy in a good, unfiltered way. She worked for a famous architect (who I had not heard of but the others I was with had) who she said was an asshole even if he was a genius. She wanted to leave Paris as soon as possible and were it not for her work she would have already done so. She said the city was dirty, its people arrogant and smelly, and the unnecessarily socialized infrastructure generally inefficient. She told me the other places she had lived, which were many, and gave me a reason why each one of them was better.

The next person I met was an Australian fashion designer who had moved to Paris six months ago to start her own fashion line. Admittedly I had met other people after the Swede and before the Australian but they, like everything else I exclude from my memories, do not immediately suit my simple and basic literary intents. Anyways, the fashion designer was dressed very fashionably and I asked if she was wearing clothes from her own line. She told me no, that what she designed was much fancier, and then she wrinkled the end of her nose just enough to tell me she was displeased with the question. I asked her how long she was planning on staying in Paris and she said forever. That’s a long time I told her, which I thought was a pretty good answer. She said that since she was a little girl playing dress up she had always dreamed of living in Paris and now that was actually doing it her life was like that dream. She said it in the way that a bad actress reads a line in an okay play. She asked if I spoke French and when I said no the look on her face made it clear that that was the last straw. I said bye and left before she could do the same.

Then I met some Wharton Business School guys. One was from L.A. and the other was French. The French guy seemed like a sleazy French guy and the one from L.A. reminded me of that kid in elementary school who would always buy the old toy the day before everybody else brought in their new toy. As a segue to talk about his salary, he asked the French guy about the appropriateness in France of discussing salary. The Frenchman said it was completely off limits and then promptly told his. They seemed awfully young to be so boring. For that matter, they seemed awfully stupid to be so rich. They gave me friendly, warm goodbyes and invited me to meet up with them at the club where they were headed. I said I’d maybe see them there but first I had to see about some things. Then I took the metro and walked up a hill to stand with all the others who had already done the same and look and watch and smile at how the city lit up at night.