Midnight on the Boulevard de Clichy

The bitter redolence of anise and herbs cloys and nauseates, lingering disagreeably on the palate like a penniless relation. The tourist sets the glass of “Bohemian wonder” aside, dismissing another exaggerated experience.

That evening, he slips in behind her, the cygnet he’s selected. She is a celebrated provincial artist’s model, an unattended swan with an exquisitely elongated neck. Beneath the great dark cloak, his fingers caress his dearest. Stroking the keen edge of his anticipation, he appreciates its firm chilly linearity emerging from its case.

Tonight, Paris’ flawless pen entertains his distinctive painting style. The traveler’s discovered the only piquant diversion offered in this fin de siècle washout city.

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109 words. For this week’s Microcosms (8) challenge, using Tourist/at the Moulin Rouge/Horror


One thought on “Midnight on the Boulevard de Clichy”

  1. What happened to the Ripper? He just went abroad. Turns out the Ripper and the Moulin Rouge and Toulouse-Lautrec were all contemporaries.

    And hey, I learned something new. A female swan is a “pen,” and a flock of swans is known as a either “flock” or “wedge.”

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