Une Flâneuse Manquée LARA FRANKENA

Lara Frankena

Une Flâneuse Manquée

I’d always been envious of Parisian flâneurs, especially when I lived there. Out alone after dark in the Metro, a man pinned me to the wall as his friend laughed. Confounded by my skort which he tried to lift like a skirt, he punched me instead.

I rode home with a bloody lip, a line of William Least Heat-Moon’s Blue Highways ringing in my ears: She had the skin of a Dresden figurine and a mouth like a Fruehauf driver.

So I ditched Paris and went to Dresden.