The theater is dark now. A solitary couple, with matching grey hued short haircuts share a cross look. Glancing behind them, they look at the girl, who is shamelessly drinking a tall glass of wine, munching on popcorn, and snapping pictures.
It’s my third time to Paris. I don’t really have a plan, which seems to be the recurring theme to my life right now. I’m just drifting, collecting experiences to curate into stories for this aptly named blog.
It was almost three years ago. A friend of mine called me with a life crisis. For some reason, she chose to confide in me. I remember that night fondly, and as to protect her privacy, I won’t go into too many details.
Note: This email has been revised to protect the identify of the person who submitted it.
“Hi,” I say, giving the dark-haired, t-shirt clad boy a warm smile. “I’m Melissa.”
Aw yeah, suckers – I WENT TO DETROIT.
I haven’t posted a lot of Drifty House photos. That’s lame, I know. But here’s an excuse: I’ve been too busy.
I’m not one to fantasize about marriage (gulp)…
I’m dripping with sweat. My skin feels like the surface of a freshly baked cookie; warm to the touch, with the promise of crisping.
It’s a Tuesday. I’m sitting in Fullsteam, carefully sipping a plastic cup of water. I check my phone. She’s on her way.