My Favorite Little Girl in France

To get to my apartment, I walk through a courtyard. Oftentimes there is a little girl out and about. I am assuming she is granddaughter of the concierge, whose apartment looks out onto the courtyard.

The little girl is four years ago and looks exactly like Capucine. I don't know her name. I don't know her birthday either. I asked her, but she couldn't remember and said she had to ask her dad.

One time I came home, and she was hanging out the window eating a lollipop.

"Hello!" she said. She is not at all shy.

"Hello!" I said. We chatted about this and that.

"You just bought some bread," she then noticed.

"Yes I did," I said. "Would you like some?"

"I would," she said. So I ripped her off a piece of baguette. Then she jumped off her perch to get something inside. She came back with another lollipop and gave it to me. I secretly think I got the better end of the trade.

Today I came back from a run, and she was watering the flowers in the courtyard.

"Hello!" she said.

"Hello!" I said. "What are you doing?"

"Giving the flowers water," she said.

"Which ones did you already give water to?" I asked.

"Hmm…" she couldn't remember. But she was sure she had already watered the yellow ones. Then the concierge came out and nagged her about not getting her shirt dirty or her shoes wet, and that was the end of our conversation.

I'm sure I'll see her again soon. I hope so, because she's my favorite.