The Roof
Paris glowed like a fireplace. Warm, crackling and dangerous if anyone decided to get too close. It was quiet up here, but surprisingly opulent and inviting like an old museum. Nothing stirred, not for a long time. Then, a shadow became too long like Paris was shifting restlessly in its seat. It flopped. Once, twice and then slowly inched off the ground. The shadow took the form of a man, it's black outline wispy once pulled from the floor with the silhouette of wild hair in a thin suit.
His eyes were simply white dots that looked like they were poked through him. They curiously rolled around the roof, sometimes turning into comically straight lines or a crescent moon turned on its side. He finally got to his feet and touched his shadowy hands on the stone railing, looking out at Paris. Everything was cool to the touch. Warped into his hands like they belonged together. The only thought that crossed the shadow's mind was, Yes, this is where I'd turn up.