Paris is the city where I breath every day with my heart. It’s easy, because there’s love, smiles and sweet words everywhere.
In my home street, and literally IN the street, there lives a poor guy (un SDF) who’s often hungry and drunk.
Every time I pass, he kind of wakes up, his eyes smile and he says: Bonjour, ma princesse!
The other day he asked me in an elegant, Molierish manner:
* Your name is not Valentine, is it? (Vous ne vous appelez pas Valentine?)
* No. (Non.)
* That’s what I thought. A princess got to have a princess name. (C’est ce que je me disais. Une princesse doit avoir un nom de princesse.)