I have been to Paris twice so far. The first time, I was eighteen years old, poor in every measurable sense, and so completely, recklessly alive that I barely noticed. The second time was 2017, alone, pre-COVID, with a good hotel and no plan and nowhere I had to be. Two trips separated by almost two decades.

Paris meets you exactly where you are. Whatever I brought to it, the city reflected back in that particular shimmering light that somehow makes you want a girlfriend, a cigarette, or a reason to stay another week.