I’ve been thinking a lot about how my time in France has changed me. Today I went out into the city on my own, grabbed some coffee on the quai, the street that runs along the river. I sat down on a bench with my CocoRosie soundtrack ready on my iPod, pen and paper in hand to do some writing. After a little while, this little boy came up to me. He startled me a bit cause I had my music on full volume. He apologized sweetly and put a jar of money in front of me asking me to kindly make a donation to help a children’s hospital. “S’il vous plaît, pour les enfants malades.” For whatever reason, my initial reaction was to doubt him. So I asked, as politely as I could if he was working for an organization. He would not answer me, and instead looked at me with these wide eyes that seemed to ask, “do you have something against helping sick kids, lady?” Of course, I want to help sick children, but with all the people on the streets asking you for money, you kind of have to be selective with who you give it to. Finally, I gave in and made a donation in spite of my already pathetically empty bank account. Somehow I felt guilty for doubting a child’s intentions. A child who had to be innocently trying to help those who needed it. I thought, “Wow, France must really be turning me into a cynic.” The pre-France me would never have wanted to believe that a kid could be lying about something like helping dying children. Long story short, on my walk back home I saw the same kid SMOKING with a group of 3 others. This kid was maybe 10 years old. I wish that were just dramatic hyperbole, but it’s not. I overheard them laughing about how much money they got today and when we made eye contact, he started walking really fast in the other direction. Oh. My. God. If there is a reason I’ve developed this uncharacteristic cynicism, it’s the human race.