It’s been three weeks now that our happy couple has been in Paris-- City of mating pigeons, zigzagging between benches, dragging their tails. City of chocolate pastries and infinite politeness, except on the boulevards where cars hunt down small girls on bicycles.
After an early burst of inspiration, Beaver is left with some questions. Why did they leave the planet Franche in the first place? They left in search of some sort of dream…. It happens everyday; you put down the plastic bag your lunch came in and you take some time to daydream. Minutes later, the plastic bag is floating away and is it just your imagination or doesn’t it seem to float even higher the minute you run after it?
The parcours is similar. Franche. Manhattan. Sandisfield, MA. If you don’t run after it, it just might end up in the sea.
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