The Seine, a dazzling land. Pont Neuf, the oldest walking bridge, as a garland over the sea. The Celtic tribe, the Parisii, made home on the Île de la Cité island in the Seine. Somewhere in the watery depths below, Joan of Arc whispers.

What if you were on the receiving end of your actions? How would that feel? When you see yourself bristle at what you perceive as a slight, upon reflection do you see similar shadows cast from your shape?

How do you reverse pollution? Make the toxic waste retract from where it started. The flow can be stopped, but not by the typical means.

I love direct buses to the airport. Kiwi yogurt is actually good. Elderberry soda I care not for. Chocolate baklava, but really anything with chocolate. Sleeping comfortably on an airplane is still a puzzle unsolved.

Performing out of a rigid sense of obligation. The drum beats to the rhythm of should. Following it doesn’t lead to where is best for me. The signs we’re passing say so. I wave as we pass.