Paris Dispatch: A Long Way Down

I grew up in Paris, and I have a particular tendency to revert to a kind of childlike wonder when I return there. Certain members of my family (who will remain nameless) have frequently noted that I become, in such moments, emotionally arrested at about the age of twelve: here, I undergo a kind of remarkable personality shift that seems to ignite magically upon my arrival at the Paris airport. It is true that my childhood memories remain highly sensory and rather intensely visual, and, for the most part, tend to revolve around candy stores and the best places to go roller skating. These are happy memories and, for the most part, uncomplicated ones...

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