Last week, I met an American woman and her husband. They were escorting their 17-year-old granddaughter on her first trip out of the country, first to London and then to Paris.

Sallie, who lives near Chicago, talked of how marvelous New Yorkers were. While walking down the street, she saw some money on the ground -- a couple of dollars, maybe a $5 bill. At the same time, a New Yorker saw the same money. They looked at each other, looked around to see if anyone had dropped the money, both wondered who would get the cash first. Sallie motioned to the woman, indicating it was hers ... she bent down, took it, and she and Sallie struck up a conversation.

"You know its good luck to find money like this," Sallie said. The woman agreed. They shared a few words, before going their separate paths. As Sallie approached her hotel, she saw a coin on the ground and picked it up. Here was her good luck, she thought.

The other night, as I was walking back to the flat in le Marais, I saw something on the ground ahead of me. A crumpled, single American dollar bill.

Without missing a step, I scooped up the lonely dollar.

My good fortune in Paris continues.

 

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