Paris-the-guitar

    I can remember clearly the feeling of everything inside me coming to a halt, as if time had stopped, the moment I saw him.    There he was, the new night guard. Soft, small build made of rounded shapes like a teddy bear. His pinkened cheeks framed with a bob of flared duck-feather hair. Uniform tidy, not a hair out of place with his hat perched so particularly perfectly that you'd think he was here for a job interview, despite already having the job. His shy posture definitely said so. He was different from the other guards we'd had. Not at all cocky, much less mischief in his eyes, not at all begging to defile what we called home. No,