i’m a wanderer

in a land of wanderers.

le flaneur, a stroller, as the frenchies say. altho i’m not much for strolling. more of a haul arse kinda girl. even as i aimlessly roam. i don’t know where i’m going. but i’m gonna get there. fast. especially in this bittah cold. with only one glove to keep me warm at night. yes, that’s right, after several weeks of trying to leave, my lil tan hand-warmer walked out on me for good. and now i have the one. to remind me of all the times i passionately reunited with the otha. at notre dame, when i returned to the scene almost an hour later. in the restaurant on the champs elysees, as the waiter rushed afta me. in the metro,  when i ran back inside the train to scoop it off the ground, narrowly escaping before the doors closed. we had some good times togetha, glove.

also not proud to say: my hat is no longer among my earthly possessions. i would tell you the otha thing i lost. but i don’t want you all to think i’m losing my mind. just my shiz. okay, a hint: i left it in the door when i got home last night. the otha side of the door…but these strangers…who i guess i could call my neighbors…for now. well you know how it goes. i got it back. you win some, you lose some. let’s hope the important stuff lands in the win pile…

as i walk these rues, carelessly littering my hats and gloves on the ground, i often think, hey, you should really get a map. so you know where the eff you’re going. and then i realize, i don’t need no map. let the monuments be my guide.