Going to see the Eiffel Tower and the October streets are full of people. The métro is still running, shuffling back and forth across the City of Light those accidental Parisian revelers who are even aware that it is Halloween, something of a peculiarity to non-Americans. Bon, let me get this straight. You just give out candy?
The tower is still blocked from view by the tawny apartment buildings, and Kiely turns to me as we prepare to cross one last street before everything is clear. The excitement reflects in her eyes like the twinkling, spinning lights that are currently on the Eiffel Tower (we know they're shining, even though we can't see). We are about to take our first step onto the empty road when a Frenchman on rollerblades zooms in from the right.
And then another, and another. Soon there is a whole crowd of them whizzing by under the golden light of the streetlamps, some wearing spandex shorts, others in helmets, one is still in a suit from his work just a handful of hours before. And then there are costumes, too, lots of them for the holiday. I catch sight of a woman dressed like a sandwich, and the slices of cardboard bread are so wonderfully out-of-nowhere and unexpected that I feel a pang for back home.
The whooshing sound of plastic wheels on cool pavement dies away as the last of the rollerbladers continue into obscurity down the street. We can finally cross, and do. We drink Heinekens by the tower — just as tall as Kiely thought it would be, and glittering — and Dan talks about American things in his loud, carrying voice. I think fondly of the sandwich, and then we go home.
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