Early Morning in Paris, The short chronicle of a lavish couple Options

[xXYouMeBedNowXx]

"Wake up."
It's three o' clock in the morning, the day before the prime minister's parade through Paris. It's raining outside, the boulevards and streets glisten with a glaze of wet dew, and over it, the electric wave of splashing drops hitting the asphalt. Rachel awakens with Richard's face over hers. The fog of sleep begins to evanesce. Her hearing begins to come back, and the slow tang of reality creeps on her with a grace.
"What's wrong?" She asks.
"I've got an idea."

Hand in hand, they go down the stairs of their four-story apartment, still in their pajamas and holding a small umbrella, just to make it slightly more unorthodox than it already is.
"I can't believe we're doing this." Rachel giggles
"You better believe it" he smiles
On the last turn, Richard drops the umbrella and it tumbles down the flight to the hard tile floor. A loud "tang" echoes up the halls. She laughs with her hand over her mouth and he shushes her.
"Quietly!" Richard whispers.
He opens the door to an orange-lit street. The entire way is clear, only the dim flashing light of the "Road Closed" signs are moving. It's raining hard, and the wide six-lane road is practically invisible under the white sheet of splash. The static sound of the water is deafening.
"We're gonna walk in this!?" she yells. He opens up the umbrella and motions his arm outside.
"Ladies first."

No more than a moment later, they find themselves out in the middle of the road. Laughing, screaming, and soaking wet, they gallop up and down the street, with broad smiles from corner to corner. They've totally abandoned the umbrella, not caring where, when, or how they got rid of it. They're only caring about their twirling now, sending a ring of water coming up from their feet. A set of eccentric ballerinas: caught in an endless trance of bliss and joyous, emotional melody. Rachel runs up the street, sending a crest of water in Richard's wake. He chases after her and they eventually find themselves at one of the signs. Exhausted, they fall and lay on the black concrete. Staring straight up into the stars, yet at the same time, letting the water crash into their faces, they begin to laugh. They laugh, endlessly. Their heads touching, their bodies shaking with the rattle of humor, Rachel begins to wonder whether the water on their faces is the rain or tears of joy. This is Life. Rachel thinks. Life -- or Love.


This is a chapter of a book I'm writing. If you want more details, feel free to ask.