In the Polly Magoo

What color is your insanity?

Mine is blue. The blue of Alice’s eyes. Somewhere between the deep crisp blue of the clearest day, and the cold blue of midwinter ice.

I fell in love with those eyes one evening in a small bar called the Polly Magoo on Boulevard Saint Germain in Paris.

At the time I lived in London, studying near the City. I was in Paris to visit my best friend, Scott, who studying at the Sorbonne. We sat in the smoky, poorly lit bar drinking a beer. Talking about nothing in particular, waiting for Alice. Scott thought we would get along so he wanted us to met. Alice was another overseas student at the Sorbonne.

We had been in the Polly Magoo about a half hour when she arrived. Scott sat with his back to the door so I caught sight of Alice first. She walked in and I knew who she must be immediately. Dressed in blue jeans and tee shirt with a University of Virginia emblem ironed on. As she crossed the room, all I could see was those blue eyes.

“Bonjour,” Alice smiled as she walked up to Scott and I.