Another Trip

My Aunt was surprised to hear I was going back. 
"I thought you hated Paris? I thought you'd had enough; you'd discovered Amsterdam and you were never going back to Paris?"
Yes, well...
It's like I'm controlled by flashbacks of the perfect moments: meeting up with Ian MacEwan, AS Byatt, James Salter, being invited upstairs for tea at Shakespeare and Company, being serenaded by the perfect jazz quartet just outside my hotel window...
And something about Montreal triggers those flashbacks. 
So I book my hotel and even at the last minute, Marie finds me a room.
My confirmation comes back, "Big kiss until then." 
I book my ticket and buy my Euros for a trip I really can't afford.
I don't need anyone to remind me how I've been bellyaching about how bad the economy is. It is. 
That's exactly why I need to go to Paris.
Never mind my rants. In that I'm just becoming more like a native Parisian. The moment I am inundated by the smell of diesel by the Seine, I know I'm back. 
Paris, c'est moi.

Take me too...