Climbing Mountains

It was another long flight the other day. My back is still killing me. I have to find out how to say Ibuprofen in French. I managed to make a few lists of what is motivating Holly these days and the significance of her destination choices. I think I might have come up with a few plausible ideas. I could not help but let my mind wander to finding her. Our last meeting was very memorable, but in terms of information, not so much. I know she is running from something or someone and it would seem after something else. I don't believe for an instant she wanted anyone to get hurt.

Although, if she really did not want to hurt me, she would not choose to go to a place with so many bloody stairs. I mean, haven't the French ever heard of elevators? At least ones that go straight up and down, not the funiculaire which takes forever and I didn't even notice until it passed me on the way up. No wonder Montmartre translated to the Mountain of the Martyr. I haven't seen a trace of Holly though. I was walking through the open air cafes and looking through the crowds when I saw it. I had to go over and look more closely. She was here. She was definitely here. There was a painting of a beautiful woman sipping coffee at a cafe. I swear it was Holly. I bought the painting and the artist said, at least I think he said, he painted it earlier today. Now, I just have to figure out where she is staying. Maybe I should check out the couture houses.