It’s Always Dark When I Put on My Lipstick For love of Stuart Dischell’s “She Put on Her Lipstick in the Dark” Oui, I met a man in Paris once, not the only man I’ve ever met in Paris. It was in a museum in a garden. I was looking at the statues; getting a feel for them with my fingers. Men want to walk me to the café, to the entrainer, and to the boutique. They want me with coffee and they want to help me to cross several rues. He sidled up to me, asking which statue I favoured. He said he would steal it for me; just say the word. I told him he needed a new line. I felt his metal security guard badge and his nightstick. I kissed him anyway and leaned my head on his warm chest. Paris was cold and I wore my aquamarine scarf. We sipped lovely cups of coffee near loud machines. I couldn’t see and I couldn’t hear. I nearly missed my train, Paris to Grenoble, seven hours and 45 minutes. I never saw him but I remember his face.