His gaze is steady and soft. He stares forward in a dreamy fog. And though he looks you straight in the eye, sunlight from a nearby doorway glinting off the dark pools of his pupils, it is evident his thoughts are elsewhere.
Christine Brooks was at the perfect point in her design career to consider graduate school. She had six years of professional experience behind her, no kids, some time, much ambition and a yearning to push herself to the next level.
It had been my dream ever since I was a young girl. The scene had played in my head like a television rerun. There I was,
sitting by the Champs-Elysée eating flaky, buttery croissants and exchanging banter with the locals, while the reverberating
voice of Edith Piaf softly drifted through a hidden speaker behind an ornate mahogany bar manned by a handsome, dark-haired,
mustached Frenchman named Pierre wiping dry large café au lait saucers. You could say my fantasy of moving to Paris was a vivid
one, complete with its
It wasn’t your conventional classroom. We sat huddled together around a couple of steel tables within the Prudential Mall food court. Commercialism cradled us with neon signs for pizza, Chinese and New England clam chowder. Branded napkins littered the floor and food peddlers summoned us to sample goodies. Unorthodox as it was, it proved to be the perfect setting for our learning exercise.