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Weekly Contest #124
The wind was blowing from the north: a hint of rose in the air, mixed with the smell of shit, a breeze coming both from a parfumerie and the Seine. It brushed back the fine hairs on my arms and made my skin prickle. From somewhere in the apartment, the chocolatey strains of ‘Ave Maria’ slipped between the hinges of the balcony door and wisped away through ivy leaves into the night. The moon hung full above, looking for all the world like a movie prop, like a sigil proclaiming oui, this is Paris, this is la ville d’amour.It was cold out....
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