I used to live in Pigalle, only a stones throw from Place du Tertres with an old girlfriend. When she broke it off, I walked away without a single memento of our time there except for a french deck of cards gifted to me by her grandmére, who was always more fond of me that she ever was. The rain brings back memories.
I used to live in Pigalle, only a stones throw from Place du Tertres with an old girlfriend. When she broke it off, I walked away without a single memento of our time there except for a french deck of cards gifted to me by her grandmére, who was always more fond of me that she ever was. The rain brings back memories.
Ah, a fine plot for a micro-fiction here, Conor. I would love to see the relationship develop between the grandmother and the young man - whether fact or fiction doesn't matter.
The day she gave me the deck of cards, we had spent the entire day museum hopping, whilst my ex was at work at a bank in the city - me with my pidgin-french and her without a word of English in her head - there's fruit for a story there indeed! Thanks for the memory-jog Sharron.
Wow - so many parallels - know something, that day we spent museum hopping and failing to talk to each other, is my favourite memory of all my time in Paris and worth more than any lost photograph. I really must write it down.
I used to live in Pigalle, only a stones throw from Place du Tertres with an old girlfriend. When she broke it off, I walked away without a single memento of our time there except for a french deck of cards gifted to me by her grandmére, who was always more fond of me that she ever was. The rain brings back memories.
Ah, a fine plot for a micro-fiction here, Conor. I would love to see the relationship develop between the grandmother and the young man - whether fact or fiction doesn't matter.
The day she gave me the deck of cards, we had spent the entire day museum hopping, whilst my ex was at work at a bank in the city - me with my pidgin-french and her without a word of English in her head - there's fruit for a story there indeed! Thanks for the memory-jog Sharron.
Something I really love - a three-minute story about a young man and a grandmother who could not speak English!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m--a1kPgOpI&ab_channel=NealFoard
Wow - so many parallels - know something, that day we spent museum hopping and failing to talk to each other, is my favourite memory of all my time in Paris and worth more than any lost photograph. I really must write it down.
Please do!