She should have turned back. What was the point of this journey? In my mind I realised that she could have been anyone, she might have been telling me the truth from the moment I boarded the Greyhound bus in Cleveland, she could be on her way to Paris to study art by the Seine, to see the world in the same way he had desired, needed to do. The bus was certainly cheaper to get to Philadelphia where she said her sister lived, to pick up her tickets to fly to France and then go on to study the fine art she breathed whilst spending her free time underneath a bridge or two, perhaps sitting within a tossed baseball of the Eiffel Tower or sitting drinking coffee in one of the numerous cafés that lined the Parisian walkways.