| I work late - a lot - and I walk home from work whenever I can (usually this means whether or not I've remembered to bring my umbrella when it's raining). If I leave the office after twelve-thirty or so, I don't really have much choice. I can never quite bring myself to pay for a taxi, even when I have the money in my pocket and I know I'll get reimbursed in the morning. It seems like a terrible waste of money when the walk gives me such pleasure. |
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It usually takes me between an hour and an hour-and-a-half, getting me home between two and four in the morning. This shocks a lot of people, but I sleep badly in any case, and I'm not missing sleep by not being home. |
| The streets are never really deserted - especially not in the third and first arrondissements, not even at three or four in the morning - and it's safe enough that you can see women out walking alone. |  |
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It's a little more quiet on the left bank. I vary the route a little from time to time, but it's pretty rare that I cross anywhere other than the Pont des Arts. |
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| I haven't travelled much, really, for someone who's emigrated twice in eight years, but I think that anyone who has lived in Paris even for just a short while must find other cities dimly lit at night. Maybe New York is different. San Francisco was dark, though. |
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Things in Paris shop windows seem arranged to cast shadows, not to catch or reflect the light but to bask in it and glow. The light that plays around them always seems very warm to me. |
| It doesn't matter that the windows are stocked with books I will never read, clothes I would never wear, and trinkets I could never want. The things are there for me to stop and look at and think about on my way home to try and sleep, and that's enough. |
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