Yesterday I met a man in the Cafe Le Zimmer with salt and pepper hair. I liked his angular jaw and cheekbones. He was an architect, and as he put it, came from a family of heroes. One WWI and one WWII hero, and an imposing mother who, being widowed at 40, went back to school and became one of the Louvre's experts on Renaissance art.
We talked of life and love and dreams and lessons learned until there wasn't anything else we could conceive of ordering at the cafe, having gone through a Croque Monsieur, caramel and chocolate ice cream, three coffees and two different kinds of water.
He took me to dinner at one of those ultra chic places that have no obvious entrance from the street, ostensibly to attract only those who already know where it is, and to discourage the curious, perhaps undesirable, passerby.
He has a lovely deep voice and smooth long fingers. He is elegant and thoughtful. We have made plans for dinner next week.
I came home and changed the time on my laptop to accommodate Daylight Saving Time. The zone Paris belongs to? Romance Standard Time.
Indeed.
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