Page 39 - NyghtVision Magazine Volume 3 #2

above Photographs left to right: 1) The glass door with which Falcon collided. 2) Café Trocadero. 3) Across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower, two lovers kiss at sunset. 4) JD trying to wake up. 5) The futon upon which Falcon slept.

The Boulevard de Republic, the street on nearly an hour ago. “I guess we will find out,”
which our apartment is located, was hot and I’d replied.
wet with the moisture that rose from the Now, hesitantly, I close the light and say
Seine. I was still bleeding, and couldn’t walk goodnyght.
very quickly. As I turned the corner to Ave-
nue Pierre Grenier, JD caught up with me. By
the time we reached Olivier, the bleeding had Paris: Day 5

stopped. Apparently, Olivier was worried. Af-
ter dinner, we went back to DxO’s offices where don’t like what I see in the mirror. My
I cleaned the wound on my nose and placed a I face is still swollen. My headache per-
makeshift bandage over it. sists. If anything, it is stronger than it was yes-
“How’s your head?” JD asked as soon as we terday. But we have two and one-half days left
returned to the apartment. in Paris, so I pull my tee shirt off, finish un-
“How do you think?” dressing, and head into the shower.
“You might have a concussion.” “It’s going to be hot today,” says JD.
“Okay. I am sure I do. So?” I replied. JD of- “Oh?”
fered no response. “Let’s say I do have a con- “80°.”
cussion. Is there any way anyone can fix it?” “Wonderful.”
JD moved his head from side to side, silent- I am not worried about me. The heat does
ly indicating “no.” little harm to me, and I don’t generally per-
spire. But this is a warning sign for JD. He
fF suffers terribly from the heat. Today our plan

involves heading off to Père Lachaise Ceme-
It is now 1:30 AM. Even the whoosh of the tery, then down to Café Odessa to meet an old
cars passing by has softened. The last scooter friend from DxO, Jean Cassagne. We’ll go back
only screeched like a mosquito for a moment to the Eiffel Tower for sunset, and eventually,
as it disappeared into an alley nearby. Look- return to our apartment. Tomorrow will be an
ing down at the street, I see only a man and early day—another good friend and colleague
woman walking slowly. Her head rests on his of ours, Deborah Gallin, and her daughter will
shoulder. I am undecided whether I will try to pick us up at 8:00 AM, and we will all head
sleep. “You aren’t going to bleed out, are you?” out to the countryside to do some photogra-
JD had asked as he took to his bed to sleep, phy and get in a little relaxation. I am painfully

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