I decided to rest my bitterly cold legs by sitting on an unsteady bench across from an overflowing bar. I had never been much of a drinker apart from the occasional glass of whiskey that always went straight to my head. I stared intently at the social dilemmas of the drunken fest across the street. It was around ten PM and the bar was rather crowded for the prematurity of the brisk night. As I became disinterested in assessing the bar a bumbling brute of a bastard was forced out of the bars glass front door. From what I could tell his face was distorted from the alcohol he had induced and the handlings of the bouncers. He was a bald rather plump man whose five o’clock shadow was on the verge of becoming a ten o’clock beard. His clothes were ragged and washed out. His shoes were ripped of their front so that only the sides and heel supported his feet. In his hand he toted a cumbersome half-drunken bottle of scotch which had no lid so whenever the man moved drops sloshed out of the top. He took a few hefty sips of his drink and began to aimlessly walk towards me. He walked with no sense of time or direction. He just swayed back and forth occasionally making a drunken sounding. By the time he got close enough for me to smell his alcohol infused breathe he still had not acknowledged my presence. He began to walk straight towards me, which I was quite impressed with until he tripped over the curve only barely regaining his balance. With a seemingly last stitch effort he hoisted himself upon the already unsteady bench I was sitting on. I was startled at first but then greeted him with a subtle hello in the hopes he knew English. The man did know English but it was a nearly incomprehensible slur to me. The man began to talk about the war and his hopes and dreams all before even cordially greeting me. I managed to calm him down and actually have somewhat of a normal conversation with him. He never told me his name but he did tell me a lot about himself. Almost oblivious to the fact he was talking to a complete stranger he confessed his wrongdoings. In fact, he even displayed to me that he believed he had killed nearly thirty-five men in his life time. He told me about how he grew up on a small farm in New York and after fighting in the army he had decided to explore the different realms of the world. I did not expect him to be a man of adventure or travel but he had a lot more curiosity in him than I did. He talked about his family, parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters and perhaps even cousins although I vaguely remember. In my opinion he portrayed a rather enjoyable life, one of companionship and happiness. My assumptions were soon met with the explanation of the man’s current state. He told me of his first and only love. He saw her in a crowded market near Versailles nearly two years ago and said from the time he first saw her he loved her. He told me everything about her. She was young, about twenty-three and had cascading café hair that rippled as it formed around her perfect face. He told me of her smile and her insatiable laugh that convicted him to grin even when he was in the worst of moods. Her eyes were a deep decadent brown that a man could just melt into for eternity. He described to me every aspect of her perfection. His depiction of her even made me picture her unprecedented beauty. They were in love. The man had done everything for her. He had given her a house, food, safety, and most importantly his love, a love that was enduring, eternal, and reciprocal, or so he thought.

His rant-like life story soon escalated along with his voice and tone. His talking began to soar into an exclamatory yelp as he described to me the worst day of his life. He had returned from work one afternoon to find a note on his kitchen table. There in black inked cursive were the words that tore the man’s very existence apart. He told me how gutted, betrayed and tortured he felt. He felt tricked, played, flabbergasted at what his mind had read but his heart could not accept. She had left him. Left him for some clean cut British businessman who had been intermingling with the man’s wife for nearly their entirety. All on paper she confessed it, as clear as day without any signs of penance. By this time the man’s yelps had turned into unanswerable cries that rang out across the desolate streets that surrounded us. I did not know what to say or what to think. I thought to myself why was this man telling me all this? I am nothing but a stranger to him, why does he feel so open with me? I then became pressed with the decision whether to comfort the man or leave him to sulk in his self-sorrow. My conscience pushed me to extend my arm and tap the man on the back, up and down as a mother would do to comfort her young child. I did not know whether my kind gesture would help the man. Perhaps the man would not even remember the events of the night when he awoke the next day, but I comforted him anyway. After a minute or so I stopped my comforting and settled back into my own mind. I struggled with what to say next. We both sat there in silence. The man’s crying had subsided aside from the occasional inhalation through the nose that coiled up the snot produced from the perpetuity of his sorrowful tears. The man took a monstrous swig of the scotch which he had not touched sense beginning his story and then offered me some. I kindly rejected but then realizing my own personal remorse for the man I grabbed the scotch from his hand and took a meager sip. It tasted like it smelled, rancid and harsh but in some ways it comforted me. Lord knows I needed comfort, maybe even more so than the lost man beside me. My heart grew cold for some reason. The man’s story had touched a chord within my heart that had only been plucked a few times before. It was a chord that needed fine tuning. After another few minutes of silence the man arose from his seat and began to sway down the street. Before he got too far off he turned to me and said, “Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up. Enjoy it while you have it.” He turned back around and continued his trek. I watched him slowly move from streetlight to streetlight only seeing the rounded outline of his body when he was close enough to the light. I kept watching him walk away until his mystic outline cascaded away into the midst of the dark cool night, never to be seen again by me.

It was now around eleven o’clock and the tourist gallivants were beginning to take in the night time essence of Paris. I was still in a bit of a scattered mood after the drunk man’s story and was not thinking clearly after the few sips of scotch I had. I realized that I could not waste my night sitting on a measly bench. I needed to take in the night while I had it. I got up and walked through the streets to find something that interested me. After walking for about thirty minutes I came across a building that appealed to me. It was an almost perfectly cubicle brick building. The outside was painted with a cheap white paint that was beginning to peal after years of abuse. Across the top of the building in big black cursive letters read “Bataille de I’amour”. Ivy veins extended down over the roof nearly covering the letters and there was a rapidly growing line of people that wrapped around the building corner. I was never a very patient man so I walked to the back of the building as inconspicuously as possible, hoping to find a rear entrance. In the far back by the trash cans was a locked door which I assumed led to the kitchen. I waited behind the doors out swing range for someone to open the door so I could slip in. Finally someone did and as their back was turned to place a garbage bag into the trash I slipped myself through the door. I then proceeded to rush through the kitchen. Almost frantically and without any reservation of what was on the other side I bombarded through the swinging kitchen doors. As soon as the doors opened I was embraced by an overwhelming fruition of colors and sounds, most of which were foreign to me. It was like nothing I had ever seen. Everyone was dancing and drinking. There was no person in the club without a drink in their hand other than me. I could see on every person’s face the sense of fearlessness of what the world may bring tomorrow. Everyone there was fixated on enjoying the moment at hand and had no regard for anything other than that very fixation. I was met with a few pondering eyes, for my appearance was not conducive to the setting but the glares soon passed. My first interaction with someone in the club was an excessive man named Marcelo who was a willful con man who seemed to have no care in the world. He first greeted me with an affable hug which welcomed me into the social atmosphere. He made me feel like I was really somebody special but I could see all through the holes of his debonair aspiring performance. I did enjoy his company though as he was much more social than me and opened me up to the world of indulgence. Marcelo began to buy me drink after drink. Sometimes I would drink it but often times I would pour the horrid liquid out and fake the drinking motion. This appeared to work for me so I continued to do it throughout the night. Eventually Marcelo grew tired of me and moved on to the next schmuck he could find in the club.
I then found myself alone at the bar clutching a glass of whiskey that I had no intention of drinking. I finally had a sufficient chance to assess the club for what it really was. I began to see past the influential glow of these people and really see their true demeanor. The women began to seem naïve and tawdry and the men were gutless and ignorant. Women began to purposely brush up against me to get my attention but I passed them off with a mere non- incorporating look. I was beginning to grow tired of the sleaziness of the women and their child like antics until I saw her. Innocently in the corner, she stood alone, just like I sat alone. I maintained my gaze at her for a seemingly awkward amount of time until finally our eyes met. It was a moment of inspiration accented by an instantaneous spark. I felt as if heavens gates had opened for me and I was hoisted by the joys of the human race. Before I was too caught up into my thoughts her diamond dazed eyes thawed my cold bitter heart. Her seemingly perfect skin was accentuated by her plush red lips that protruded just enough to add to her lustrous nature. Her dark brown hair fell down past her shoulders in luxuriant waves that were soon met by a body that could only be attributed to the Gods themselves. I held back my inclination to approach this awing woman in fear of utter embarrassment but I then revised my inclination with a stern execution. I crossed the polluted club and finally met this woman who apparently had been now assessing me as well. My swift “Hello” was followed by an even swifter “Bonjour” that only affirmed my delight in the woman. My courtship began with a handshake and an introduction that glorified myself only to the footsteps of the greatness of the woman that stood in front of me. I could not control myself. The words flowed out of my mouth until I had reached some type of conclusion to my expression. Conversation led to laughing which led to dancing which then led to kissing. For a man that had been sitting on a park bench next to a depressed drunk man only a couple of hours ago I felt like I was doing pretty well for myself.

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours. The night was flushed with emotions that had been unknown to me before. I was staggered at the sudden wave of positivity that swooped over me. For once, maybe only for a moment, I felt happy. The gorgeous woman and I soon grew tired of the musty humidity of the club and decided to go to a nearby coffee shop. I spoke only a little bit of French at the time but the woman and I could get along just fine. We reached the coffee shop around three o’clock in the morning and I pleasured myself with the enjoyment of a cup of black coffee. It was nasty to some but to me I felt it brought me a sense of neutrality in a world of vast opinion. Maybe my theory was rather broad but I needed something to justify my liking of it. We sat outside even though it was almost too cold to move. I was not too enthusiastic but she said you could enjoy the view a lot better from outside. The view she was referring to was situated behind me. It was rather far off but its brilliance cascaded over us with its looming presence. There the Eiffel tower stood. Its lights were at full attention and could be seen from miles away. I finished my coffee a bit abruptly and grabbed the woman’s arm to pull her in the direction of the tower. We were on our way.

After a few minutes of briskly walking we reached the base of the monstrous momentum of French pride. I stood in awe as I had looked in awe at the woman standing next to me. I would look at the tower and then look at her. I would repeat this multiple times until I got a grin and a giggle out of her and no reaction out of the tower. I bent down to feel the grass on which I stood. It was a bit damp and excruciatingly cold but I laid down anyways. She soon followed my influence and we laid there together looking up at the tower. Then out of the corner of my eye, through the early days of air pollution and the lights of the Paris night life I saw a star. I questioned whether it was the star I gazed at earlier in the night, but I was confirmed of its sameness through it being the only star I could see. I then thought about the star. Why was it there? What was its purpose? My mind once again reached its capacity as I pondered the stars existence but then I was reminded of its truth. The star humbles me and reminds me of my own shortness on this earth. It shows me how I must take every moment in for what it is, especially moments of love. I turned to the woman who I felt like I had known forever and said, “A not so sober friend once told me that Love is a battle, Love is a war; Love is a growing up. Enjoy it while you have it”. She smiled and said back to me “Well then let’s enjoy it through the battles and through the war so we can grow together and enjoy love while we have it, together”.