Gloria / U2

Flavia was from Spain, but her english was good enough that we didn’t need French. Flavia loved kir and she peed while I watched, her brown hair sweeping across her thighs as she sat there. We drank from little juice glasses. Virginie was gone for August and Flavia and I were the only people left In Paris that night. I could afford the taxi since the dollar was the comet of currencies. We stood on the pont des arts with ice cream, which I could also afford, looking down at the summer river. In the apartment I pulled out the flea market guitar and played Party Girl. She crooked her finger at me, angled back on the pillow.

A girl called trampoline/ if you know what I mean.