On the rainy afternoon of December the wind was blowing hard, I summoned the courage to take the weekend by storm with the chunnel to France with Paris in mind.  Kamila said that she wanted to go their.  We took our little necessities, an IPOD and a small sandwich wrapped with the little aluminum foil I had left from the states.
Our trip from the chunnel was short, and as much as Kamila talked about the glories of Paris, I had sensed from the rain that if my mind wasn't ready for it, I was in for a lot.  Rain treaded the cobblestone as they were merely veins soaking up blood for its daily functions.   I had to get some perspective.

 If I was back in the states in December, I'd be shoveling up the snow and having indecision if I could even make it out on a typical day.  At least here with the rain nothing was stopping me, except my own mind.
 "Girl if you don't get out of this flat, I'm gonna make you wish you did", said Kamila earlier this morning, and the fog penetrated the flat.

She pushed on some tan leather mocassins this morning, if I remembered correctly, and some brown nude stockings to boot. And with the weather, she put on a brown plastic poncho.  She was looking great that morning. But I ruined her mood, by tellin her she'd ruin those mocassins right away if she had any plans of wearing them in the rain infested Paris.