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The motel is backlit by the setting sun. The stranger leans against a car, lights a cigarette; turns to their companion— shall we go to Paris this year? The companion takes the cigarette, snuffs it out on her boot and turns to the setting sun. ‘One thing you must remember, look to the sky and never the ground.’ ‘Oh, clever,’ the stranger replies, lighting a new cigarette. ‘We’re already in Paris, baby. Paris, Texas— but we can always dream.