Once upon a time there was a young woman who lived in a dream world – and thought that Paris would turn it into reality.
The dream world had moved on by the late 1960s. The rebellious intellectuals of the 1930s and 40s had become rich and famous, and although they still signed important petitions, and sold and wrote for left-wing newspapers, they were already part of an establishment.
There was a small chance of catching sight of these characters in the flesh – though she would never have dared speak to them.
Later, much later, there was an older woman who knew the dreams were fantasies. She came to Paris with no intention of rediscovering her heroes or her earlier self.
Paris was different, yet the same, as beautiful, as uncaring, as untouchable, as bounteous. as capricious as ever.
Just occasionally the two worlds touched – a whisper brushing past, rather than a collision.
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