La vie en rose
When the girl named Chuck is thirteen years old, five months, four days and six hours old, without knowing that when she's twenty eight years old, six months, three days, eleven hours and fifty one minutes she'll be dead, she thinks: the first thing I will do when I'm grown up is go to Paris.
It might be because she has just started learning french. With the soft r's and the ones that sounds like g and that tickle her throat; Chuck decides that, one day, she will live in an apartment that looks directly upon the Champs-Élysées. It so happens that the curious girl who still is the one the boy named Ned loves, has just red Les Fleurs du Mal and Victor Hugo, and it so happens that she thinks that watching the world from the top of the Eiffel tower must be even better than watching it from space, because rockets get to see all that blue and green and brown and white, but they don't get to see apple red or strawberry red, and with the Mona Lisa being so tiny, they wouldn't be able to see it at all.
The girl named Chuck sighs from behind her braces, and she glances to the house that is just across the street, thinking that maybe in Paris she would find the love of her life and both of them would have coffee in a cafe somewhere nearby the Arc de Triomphe, and they'll both eat croissants while discussing noir films.
But then the girl named Chuck, in what might have been a premonition about her future life, wrinkles her nose. She doesn't care much about croissants after all.
Perhaps she and the love of her life can share a pie instead.