The hotel corridors were long, silent and stared far into the distance with doors and lights which guarded the gaudiness against darkness and shadow. ... I found the door and knocked on it lightly. It opened and there stood a hull of a man with a mug that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat had it of found its way out of the rabbit-hole and was employed as a transsexual madam out of drag in the boudoir of a Vegas whore house. He beamed a full smile and, in his trademark pleading tone,. " The glasses chime, and the last of the wine makes its way down our throats. Gathering up the glasses, and the remains of our pastry dessert, we begin our descent into the warmly lit streets of Montmartre arm in arm. All the way back to our hotel, we talk excitedly of the next few days: the Musee d'Orsay and no more of the Louvre than we feel like, walks in the parks and the grounds of Versailles, strolling the Marais, and her long-anticipated tour of the Galeries Lafayette. We're so lost in. More

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