There’s a rich scent here .
like warm bread and clove cigarettes.
Friendly banter .
I cant understand it all .
I love the simple streets
Little markets.
I write .
I write about its people .
Its art .its air.
And when the pen rolls from my hand it makes a pinging noise
I am awake.
The artificial light is blinding.
Its late.
Where are my pills.
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Submission Name: PARIS
