Originally published in Dionysus Unemployed Spring 2006.
It was a normal autumn night in Paris, a little cool, a little damp. Clouds had covered the city for what seemed like weeks. At night the sky shone a luminous green, from the reflection of the city’s many lights off of the clouds and smog. The green sky phenomena might have only been true for the seventh arrondisment and surrounding area, where the green glow of the Eiffel Tower was so prominent, but that doesn’t matter too much.
My girlfriend was visiting from the States, my tiny chambre de bonne offered little more than a bed with a pleasant view. When we had had enough of that bed with a pleasant view as our bodies could physically stand we decided to venture out. The seventh offered little nocturnal entertainment other than an Irish pub which was frequented by international students and expatriates. So we ended up there, wanting to do something, but not wanting to travel far.
The bar was crowed for a Sunday night, the air rang with a dozen tongues, but French and English were dominant. We found a corner table, sandwiched between a wall of Guinness posters and a group of chain-smoking Russians. At the bar I waited for two beers for what seemed to be a half hour, enough time for the effects of the shared bottle of wine to have worn off. When I returned to the table there was a man seated on my stool talking to my girlfriend, which was no big deal, every guy likes to know his girlfriend is attractive to others.