“Come on, it’s not like either of us have anything better to do with our day.” He spreads his arms as if lounging in a cafe is not very much doing something.
Who is this man? He’s nothing like the grumpy, snappy actor I’ve known the past few weeks.
“Speak for yourself.” I throw a balled up napkin at him and glare. I try to get the attention of the waiter which is, typically, impossible.
Eventually one saunters over with a pompous “Oui?”
“L’addition, s’ilvousplait.” I say.
The waiter nods and wanders off.
I look through my bag hunting for my purse.
“Come on freckles, we can do boring things you want to do like go take photos of strangers.”
I give him a scathing look, before returning to my rummaging. I look up when I hear a beep, Danny is removing his card from the card machine with a knowing smile. “Well it seems you owe me lunch.”
Ugh.
“Fine, we can walk to the next place together but then you go back to the hole you crawled out of and leave me alone.”
“A few hours and you’ll be begging me to stay.”
“It doesn’t even take thirty minutes to get to where we’re going.”
I get up and walk away. Danny comes up beside me. I take a moment to appreciate the new dynamic we’ve slipped into. I’m usually the one doing the chasing. I lead him away from the Pantheon and down the hill.
“So, do you bring headphones on these walks?” he asks, putting his hands in his pockets.
“No, of course not,” I scoff.
“Don’t scoff as if that’s a stupid question. Everyone listens to music as they walk.”
“But then you don’t soak in the atmosphere.”
He laughs. “I’d argue that you absorb more atmosphere whilst listening to heartbreak ballads.”
“That’s not how youflaneur.”
“Bless you.”
My eyes will most likely roll out of my head by the end of the day.
“I’m only playing. Come on, what’s a flaneur?” He butchers that so it comes outfl-egh-ne-uh.
“Thank god you don’t have any lines in French.”
“It’d just mean you’d have to help me run them.”
“Thank god you don’t have any lines in French.” I repeat, smiling sweetly.
“You haven’t answered me, what’s aflan-her?”
I sigh. “It basically means to wander around, look, take in the surroundings. The Parisians are experts at looking, it’s like the whole point of Paris and why all the buildings are so beautiful and the cafes have seats facing out, so people can observe strangers.”
“Like stalkers.”
“No,” I say exasperatedly.“It’s just a way of life — here.” I pull out my phone and show Danny a black and white image of two men in trench coats with their hands behind their backs smoking cigars.
