This day last year, there I was in the streets of Paris. In a dark blue ensemble, I entered L’Olympia.
Placed myself in the front row right in the centre. Melody Gardot and La chanson des vieux amants. She cried, closed the night with three white roses, one I was lucky enough to have received. I still have that rose, tucked in between the pages of James Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room.
That was one incredible night.