In the Seine
It really resembles her: the high forehead, the colors, the smile. Especially the smile. It could be my mother's portrait, if it weren't Mona Lisa.
Outside there is the sun. With the sun, Paris is even more beautiful. I stop on the bridge to look. The golden slowness of the Seine embraced by green banks. The fast machines, the patient waiting of fishermen with long swinging rods. Between stalls of books the passer-by slows down, the student lingers. A leaf detaches, twirls, falls into the water. A child chases invisible butterflies.
Rive Gauche, Montparnasse. I'm early. I'm glad of it. I enjoy sitting down for a coffee alone. Listen, watch. Guessing from the clothes, from the movements, from the facial features, the origin of the people passing by. Imagine the story, the goal. Even at Florian or Todaro I enjoyed this game which, here in Paris, becomes even more interesting.
Deux Magots. Behind the large glass window is Papa with a glass in front of him. I ask him why he arrived early.
"I like to wait for you, Daughter. I'm learning how to wait well. This is my job now*. It's my job now. As this is my job, I'm going to try to be the best...
* spoken in French
** spoken in Spanish
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