Sitting on my balcony on a beautiful 80-plus degree Los Angeles day. Listening to Latin Jazz on Pandora, with Luna curled up next to me and yet….
I don’t know what it is or why it is; but like a lot of people, Paris is my place. I really should live there at some point in my life. Paris will not have reached its full quota of struggling writers until I have joined their ranks.
Had I known a longing to live in a bustling and budget crushing city would overtake me, I would have stayed in New York. But as much as New York is like Paris, the differences between the two cities are stark.
It seems my mind is made up.
A move is on the horizon….maybe