Paris La Nuit / The Moderns

City, the tables lit with candles for night, and that girl Amy turning a pirouette across the empty room, those days of me wondering how I’d ever get here. I was thinking I was in fact a writer so I pulled out the James Joyce and wrote exactly one short story that was a rambling joke and sounded like Kurt Vonnegut on a very bad or very lazy day, with some jokes and some sentiment. And some memories, I put them in Oslo, in that hotel Debbie and I found as it got dark and everyone else was saying ‘Complet.’