It’s day five of our planned month-long stay à Paris, late April through most of May. My wife is here for work—for me, it’s strictly for pleasure—and we’re enjoying Paris’s rich, sensual goodness: food, museums, architecture, coffee, people, food. And yet, earlier today, when we were out for a walk—we’ve been walking close to 10 miles each day, exploring the city—I realized that my life here has been missing something important.
As we approached one of Paris’s many bridges over the Seine, I heard music. The source, I soon learned, was an organ grinder—tall, bearded, upended Greek fisherman’s cap on the sidewalk, soliciting donations. Sitting on the organ, in the traditional monkey’s spot, was a white rabbit.
Enlivened by the walk and the cool air, I was already feeling good.…
