For twenty years now I have been looking out the window of the 85 bus on Friday evenings at this sign on my way to Brasserie Nord Sud or Café de la Place. “What is Duluc detecting?” Is he even still here after all these years or is it just the sign that remains? Each time the bus turns the corner I am almost afraid to look. Is Duluc still here? It has become a kind of touchstone for me as I am also a detective in Paris. Looking for changes, small and large. The small changes let me know my city is still breathing, the big ones always scare me. Sometimes, at home, far away from Paris, I will forget and get up from my chair to head over to La Hune to see if there are any new books I need to own. I remember with a start that La Hune is far away and then I begin to worry. Will it be there when I come back? I have lost so many places over the years. Café Madeleine on rue Royal, my refuge on the Right Bank disappeared one year and the space became the entrance to Le Village Royal. One year Balzac disappeared from his perch on rue Vavin; thankfully he was just in for a cleaning and was back the next year. My Carte Orange is just a memory. I suppose one has to accept changes but it is sometimes sad. Our apartment is being sold and our next stay there will be the last. I won't give up on Paris and each time I round the corner on the 85 bus I will hope to see Duluc, still detecting. I know I will be, until there is nothing left to learn from Paris.