“Chyn-noisette est trop vielle!” Hugo’s friend lurches forward to slur French in my ear, only the music fades at that moment and his shout knocks me backward. The yellow bandanna he wears glows in the black-light strobe flickering across his pale cheeks. I can’t tell if he means she’s old as in aged, or old as in boring, irrelevant news. Either way, I glance at Chang to see if she heard; she adopts a stiff smile, scrolling down the screen of her tablet. Hugo playfully pushes the younger guy and says something I don’t understand; he shakes his head, then repeats, “Legend. Le-gend,” drawing out the word in English. A rocket ship noise kicks off the next song, and the debate is forgotten. I cast another eye at the booth, and Chang is already shaking her fist, revving up the crowd.

I exit the club, feeling more bewildered than when I entered. Fresh air fills my lungs, expelling the smoke and tension from inside.

The sidewalks are sparse around two in the morning, everyone finally inside a bar or club. Cool night air is a relief from the daytime’s fumes. I raise my gaze to the starry sky, searching for constellations familiar to me at home, when an airplane passes overhead.

For a moment, my internal reprimand—that I didn’t learn anything useful from Hugo, from the flyer Angela left me, and all I’ll have to show for my efforts in the morning is a slight hangover from the sugar—falls quiet. I watch the airplane pass over Paris with nothing more, no thoughts, disappointments, expectations—just observing a massive steel machine that could drop out of the air at any moment and rain disaster on every last unsuspecting fool, unaware of how good they have it on this block. Then the plane travels behind a cloud and out of sight.

I wait a good minute in front of the club on the sidewalk, but the plane doesn’t reappear.

I step into the road in the direction of Angela’s apartment. Darkness extends beyond the corner ahead, and I scan the block for pockets to avoid. With no cabs in sight, and the discovery of Chang’s deejaying and Hugo’s insight behind me, I focus simply on placing one foot in front of the other. Before the next red, blinking light falls out of the sky.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The nightlife disappears and the street opens into a wide, flat square. A sign affixed along the side of a building reads RUE MOUFFETARD. People I recognize from the row of clubs lie passed out on the few available benches. The sight of them is reassuring; if they feel safe enough to pass out in this communal plaza, I shouldn’t feel like someone has been following me the past ten minutes. And yet, I do.