Hungry and Hunting
We’d been walking for hours—half sightseeing, half scavenging for anything remotely edible—and Paris, much like myself, is all charm and grace—until hunger strikes and the claws come out. It wasn’t just dinner we were after; we were searching for a moment to exhale—for a place that felt like it belonged to us, even if just for an hour. Just as we were about to settle for less, we spotted a staircase curling down into the street below like a secret. We followed it—and Marcello found us.
