I talked it over with my father and applied to college in Paris. They looked at my grades from high school, and I told them I had helped my father run one of the restaurants in the year off, so they took me. Before I left New York, I walked up to the projects and stood in the place where Charlie was shot.
I like Paris a lot. Last week I was walking over the Seine with some friends from school and we stopped, leaning on the edge of the bridge, and looked at Notre Dame. One of them took out a joint and passed it around. When it came to me, I was about to tell them I never smoke. But what the hell. It was okay.
Now, in the spring, when it starts to stay warm into the night, I walk and look around. I get to know the city better every day. I don’t know why, but Paris seems a better place than New York. The vibe is different, I think, or maybe it’s just that Paris is not my home.
Acknowledgments
I must acknowledge my superb teachers, editors, and friends Joel Doerfler, John Fogarty, Ronald Murison, Timothy Burroughs, Larry Colan, John Dore; Kit Dillon, Jeff Deutchman, Mookie Singerman, Trina Sen, Josh Singer, Steve O’Reilly, and Adella Oliver; Morgan, George and P.J.; my brother, Tom McDonell; my mother, Joanie McDonell; and finally, the real White Mike, whom I have never met, but whose excellent name I have used.
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