Fiction: Round Robin

She dreamily took another sip from her bottle of cheap red wine and stared at the ceiling of her cramped, basement apartment; her bags perpetually packed, waiting for her life to begin.

Those visions of the Eiffel, towering over passionate French lovers, with crystal clear skies letting the sun's sweet caress take away all their cares, in that Parisian rapture. That was Marie's dream. Her perfect world, where she could just sit in her favorite dive drinking absinthe with the art avant-garde, and where true love was just waiting for that opportune moment. Her lover, a true bohemian, who would give her (until now) dreary, corn-fed, mid-western life new meaning and purpose.

She dreamily took another sip from her bottle of cheap red wine and stared at the ceiling of her cramped, basement apartment; her bags perpetually packed, waiting for her life to begin.

Those visions of the Eiffel, towering over passionate French lovers, with crystal clear skies letting the sun's sweet caress take away all their cares, in that Parisian rapture. That was Marie's dream. Her perfect world, where she could just sit in her favorite dive drinking absinthe with the art avant-garde, and where true love was just waiting for that opportune moment. Her lover, a true bohemian, who would give her (until now) dreary, corn-fed, mid-western life new meaning and purpose.

She dreamily took another sip from her bottle of cheap red wine and stared at the ceiling of her cramped, basement apartment; her bags perpetually packed, waiting for her life to begin.

Those visions of the Eiffel, towering over passionate French lovers, with crystal clear skies letting the sun's sweet caress take away all their cares, in that Parisian rapture. That was Marie's dream. Her perfect world, where she could just sit in her favorite dive drinking absinthe with the art avant-garde, and where true love was just waiting for that opportune moment. Her lover, a true bohemian, who would give her (until now) dreary, corn-fed, mid-western life new meaning and purpose.

She dreamily took another sip from her bottle of cheap red wine and stared at the ceiling of her cramped, basement apartment, her bags perpetually packed, waiting for her life to begin.