BBC world news because all the other channels are dubbed; my French holds fast in the streets but I'm tired. It is early yet, still the miles under my feet are countless. The air outside is warm, humid, it smells of summer and foreign lands.
Because it is.
And how quickly the traveler in me returns. Drawing maps in my head, practicing accents silently. Walking without rest, resting without care, sinking into the everyday life around me. Always pretending, what would it be like to live here? What is a life, in Bordeaux?
But then, don't I already know the answer to this question? Haven't I already asked it before? Did I not walk these streets a mere year and a half ago, finding the currents of the street agreeable?
It's funny. That was a whole other trip, in a whole other life.
I am still the same.
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