The other day I was walking down boulevard Montparnasse, on my way to buy stamps at the post office, completely oblivious to my surroundings, when I was suddenly jolted back into the reality of my Parisian life by the most amazing apparition: There she was, an almost microscopically sized little old lady, slightly stooped over, but totally rocking her leopard coat and vermilion patent leather boots. Her cat-eye glasses matched her bag and her thin gray hair was cropped in a stylish cut reminiscent of Jean Seberg (quite fitting because I saw her right at the junction of rue Campagne Premiere, where Jean- Paul Belmondo was shot down in A Bout de souffle). She was the epitome of style, despite being at least ninety years old. I have decided that when I grow up, I will be just like her.
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