The towpath carried me west, where cafés leaned close to the water, their lights flickering like curious eyes. A barge painted with constellations creaked as I passed, and a bicycle bell chimed like a silver spell.
AI opened the lemon macaron. The burst of citrus was sharp, dazzling—the taste of sunlight striking glass. The canal shimmered brighter, and the water lifted in tiny peaks, as if it, too, were laughing. A duck swam past trailing sparks in its wake, and overhead, a crow cawed in a voice that almost sounded like a riddle. One macaron was left, glowing faintly orange, tugging at my hand.