Once upon a time…in the glittering city of Paris…

He thought he had it bad, really bad. What more could possibly go wrong? he had lost the love of his life, and in so doing he had lost everything else as well. Such is love. As he ran through the streets that night, trying to escape that angry cries of the now displaced Paris Opera workers, he thought about how much easier his live would have been if he had just been born in a different time…in a different place…

As he ran, his foot slipped on the flagstone and he fell forward, slamming his already hurt face into the ground. He remembered nothing more that night.

The gypsy smiled down at the unconscious form. He knew what it was this man wanted; another life. And who deserved it more? This man had been denied what would have been considered a life; but he was going to be given a second chance.

He told me later he work up in a bed, a bed he knew was not his own because it was much more comfortable than anything he had ever experienced. He said as he opened his eyes sun hit him in the face and that was when he knew he was not anywhere he recognized. He had lived underground, far from the sun.

I did not meet him until later that morning. I was late, as always. I had been out late the night before, the New York City night life was not to be missed, even if you had an early meeting the next day. I had rolled out of bed, poured my over worked, over partied body into the shower, cursing my friend Rebecca for keeping me out so late. Well, I thought as I shampooed, I could not really blame her; I had wanted to go out. There was a man there, name unimportant, and I had arraigned to meet him there. He had never showed. Bastard.

I ran out into the hallway, hopping as I slipped on my manolo blahnik strappy sandals, and I ran right into him.

"Oh…God, sorry," I said hastily, still fighting with me shoe, and then I looked up to see who I had bumped into. He was the strangest man I had ever seen. He must have been new in the building. He was incredibly tall, dark hair, and green blue eyes. And there was something wrong with one side of his face; years of etiquette told me not to stare but I could hardly help it,

He said noting back and I wondered why. He looked to be about thirty nine; a good age, well dressed in what appeared to be a vintage tuxedo shirt and pants, and no wedding ring. Some may think it is a bit odd to always scan the ring finger, I say, don't judge.

"Um…I…," he looked bewildered, as though he had just seen a ghost, and I could not stay and chat, I was late,

"Nice meeting you!" I yelled back to him, although we had not really met and I ran down to the busy street outside.

He told me later that his fist day in New York City was the most bewildering he had ever experienced. He went outside and nearly fainted when he saw all the people and the way they were dressed and the tall towering skyscrapers. He told me he walked all over, getting lost and being shocked at all the things which had just been a twinkle in inventors eyes when he had last seen them.

He was sitting outside our building when I returned home from the firm where I worked. I was not in a good mood; the meeting had gone very well, in fact work was fine, it was the toxic bachelor Robert Coolidge, the bastard who had stood me up the night before.

Robert was about forty two and an investment broker. He had come to my office to apologize, but it was not so much an apology as an invitation for me to come to his apartment later that night.

He had shared a cab with me and had been getting on my last nerve all the way from my office, and I was thinking desperately for an excuse to make him leave when I saw him.

"I'm sorry Rob, but I made other plans for the night," I said, hoping he would play along,

"Plans with who?" Robert asked skeptically,

"Hey," I walked to my newest friend and put my arm through his, "Are you ready to go?" and I said a silent prayer he would understand,

He did not say anything but he let me lead him to the curb where I called a cab,

"Thank you," I muttered as we got in, "Dinner is on me,"

"There is nothing on you," he said, and I sighed, there really were no good men in the city, or so I thought.