…putting me in the Paris thoughts, for some reason— or, not for ‘some’ reason, as I just noted.  A very specific reason.  I wanted to be there.  Paris.  Sipping some cheap or not so cheap Burgundy by the river, writing in my journal… three pages a day I demand from self while there.  The glare behind me is forgotten, and I’m back in Paris.  Not in this Windsor sbux and not with all these people around me.  But by self as I was last night.  I hear a woman in the not so distant distance, playing saxophone.  For some reason I’m surprised it’s a woman, not sure why, but I walk closer and just listen, watch her, then sit next to her and write.  Write my moment in little poem and paragraphs bursts.  Know I have work to do, wine writing for my blog but I write freely for the moment.  All the people around me in that moment and the Pinot I was just sipping in a café off.. what was that street’s name?  Forgot, so I write more and listen to her newest track…