Papiers À Rouler, Mademoiselle…?
She strolled down the banks of the Willamette River and closed her eyes. She took a deep pull from her joint and pretended she was walking along the Seine, hand in hand with Pierre again. Since she arrived home she can’t quite get that summer abroad out of her head. Memories come rushing back, syncopated with the river rapids.
She stops to roll another joint. “Only OCB rolling papers will touch my cannabis from now on.” One of the many pledges she made the day she and Pierre said their goodbyes. She tried them for the first time in Montmarte, during that one Summer she thought would last forever. She, Pierre, and the city of eternal light. The way they both got caught in the rain and how she found refuge in an out of the way smoke shop. She said, “Might as well get some rolling papers while we’re here.” Pierre smiled and the marchand de tabac slid a pack of OCB’s across the counter. When the rain dissipated they both walked out onto the wet cobblestones and sparked the perfect joint.
She exhales and open her eyes. Surrounded by the lush green of the valley. She whispers to herself, “I guess we aren’t in Paris anymore.” A world away from where her heart lies but yet so close she can taste it. Through the thin papers of OCB she almost can. “Is that you Pierre?”
Inhale. Exhale. She closes her eyes and follows the river…
