How This Paris Moment Will Pay Me

At 5.45 a.m., the Paris Metro is nearly deserted and we have our pick of open seats. Across from me, Marisa is hunched over, her forehead teetering on the top of her tripod. Sleepily, she lifts her head and opens one eye to survey me in my bright red, 1960s prom dress. "One more stop," I say, and she goes back to napping on her tripod. She's not a morning person. But she knows this is going to be good.