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Rated: E · Short Story · Writing · #2145857
A brief recollection of a moment I had on my solo travel to Paris in September.
Resembling a bohemian luminary in his scattered black tux and peculiar collage of messily intertwined necklaces, he stood thoughtfully on the corner of the bridge. His wristwatch glistened in the reflection from the murky Seine below and he watched many cars pass over the bridge. People looked at him momentarily as they walked by, a busy man with his hands in his pockets glanced at the him curiously as he walked past. I was stood at the other side of the bridge on the corner. I was watching the man in the black tux. The simple intrigue of his profound appearance seemed to block out the lively conversation in the cafe behind me - but I could still smell the croissants. I started to walk over the bridge towards him. A tourist cruise passed underneath me as I crossed, it’s humming motor sent vibrations through the stone surface of the bridge, and I felt it in my toes. The man was still on the corner. A small, well dressed lady smiled as she passed me. She was definitely a local. I walked right past the man in the black tux. As if to show my intrigue, I nodded gracefully at him. He looked at me for a moment, curled his lip, narrowed his eyes, and then hailed a taxi.
© Copyright 2018 Connor Sean (pinkcarta at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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