She owned only two pairs of shoes for dire occasions, but most days she walked around the city barefoot. She lived alone, but was well acquainted with the neighbors in the other apartments and the shop owners of her favorite bakeries and shops. She walked the streets of Paris and the stopped to gaze at her. She was beautiful, graceful, and said hello to nearly everyone she passed. She spoke fluent French, English, and Russian. She spent her days in the streets of Paris, in the shops and galleries. Yet this girl had no close friends; she was seen walking out to the mail truck to deliver three letters to the man personally once a week, but no one knew to whom they were addressed. She was friendly and kind-hearted and happy. Everyone who met eighteen year old Anna fell in love with her.
Anna laid her brush down and walked out of the room, leaving the door open so she could hear the music while she readied to go out. It was 11 A.M. and time for her to go out to do her daily rounds around the city. She distractedly ran a brush through her hair, combing back the wavy, semisweet chocolate locks. Her feet danced as she went into the kitchen and grabbed herself a danish, handmade from her favorite bakery down the street. Danish in hand, she walked out of the apartment and down the stairs into the warm sun.
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