I decided to catch the bus rather than the train and waited nervously for the #69 from Pyrénées'Bagnolet. There was an air of friendliness amongst the locals at the bus stop, but no real conversation going on. I was trying to take in every action, smell, and sound. I watched the road workers fixing a pothole, postal deliveries across the road, well-coiffeured women with beautiful skin strolling down the street looking effortlessly glamorous, while shops opened their shutters and doors. I boarded the spacious, air-conditioned bus, said bonjour to the driver, who only nodded a reply, and punched my weekly ticket into the slot. I was on my way to the musée, to my new job. I was excited and only a little nervous. My Paris working life was about to begin. As the bus made its way across town, I stared out the window at couples, groups of teenagers and business people all sitting on sidewalks having their morning coffee and croissant. What a life! I exclaimed silently in my head. When we stopped to let people off, I saw a young girl hug and kiss her father goodbye before he ran off to work and the girl and mother walked away in another direction.
