Paris, France and the Eiffel tower

Homeless in Paris

The door snapped shut. Oh god, I had just gotten fired from being a nanny in Paris. In French it’s ‘au pair’, in English: slavery.

But she’s especially blue when there’s a sheet of rain covering the cigarette smoke and charming cafés.o
The view from an apartment I didn’t know existed yet. Paris, France

Oh shit, the door is closed. I had five euros in my clenched fist and the family had sent me on my way. “Here’s five euros for the train.” Well merci. 

“Shit…shit…SHIT!” I didn’t know how to say “merde,” yet (which is crap en Français) but whatever. I looked around…the hallway was a dim yellow, and the train is 2.75 euro, so fuck you guys. Why I got fired is a story for another day. Heaving my luggage with both hands, I took the elevator down and stepped out into the balmy air.

Of course it was raining.

Paris is blue. Always has been, always will be. But she’s especially blue when there’s a sheet of rain covering the cigarette smoke and charming cafés. In another instant, this would have been terribly romantic. It was terribly romantic. I was homeless, then Paris, and it was pouring.

I saw the lights dimming in the streets, and the water was spraying like a fine mist. It was laughable. Then the headlights came, and I cursed myself for not waiting underneath a nonexistent balcony. The baker next door, who had called me a charmante mademoiselle only days ago, looked at me with pity and turned away.

The headlights stop, thank god.  But this is France, and the taxi driver is certainly not going to help me too much with my luggage. Glancing at him, I clamber in all the same.

“merci, monseiur.” That’s all I knew, and I repeated it like the lifeline it was.

Oh my god, I’m homeless in the city of lights. Who I crashed with is another story, for another time.

I trembled, and yes, I panicked. But your heart beats a little faster when you’re lost in Paris. Hemmingway must have gotten lost in Paris. Many lovers did before me. I smiled. I was lost in Paris, and it was raining.


Continue the story, through the Paris underground

Pleats and KeatsBLOGLOVIN’



22 thoughts on “Homeless in Paris”

    1. Thank you! I was wondering if thats the effect it could have…I hope to use it sparingly, what do you think? It could become a little gimmicky if it is in every single post? Or do you think I could change up the phrasing a little per post? I love repetition in literature, but I’m not the bard.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I think there’s a danger that it might become gimmicky – especially if you don’t follow up on your promise and never tell any of the stories. I’d stick with it when it fits but wouldn’t try to shoehorn it in where it doesn’t belong IYSWIM. And then write some of the stories you referred to in an earlier post – with a link back to it, so new readers know what you’re on about.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Thanks- I didn’t think about linking back! Good call. I’m exploring telling this story (slightly) out of chronological order (upsides- vignette-able story telling, mirrors memories so it flows naturally, etc./ downsides- well…things could get confusing.) I’m def. gonna link back with a relevant summary-ish hyperlink. Thanks!


  1. ok i get it now . . . sorry, reading out of order. i am excited to hear the story 🙂 maybe give us a little more in the about but still keep it mysterious. 🙂 seriously, love your writing style!! gifted story teller.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You’re too kind! It’s truly heartening. People are gonna think my replies are repetitive, as I use the word ‘heartening’ and ‘encouraging’ a lot, but seriously I’ve thesaurused it- there’s no other word! Writing takes a lot, from all of us, and I appreciate your words!

      Liked by 1 person

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