Vinyl formation. Hot glue gun apotheosis. Interminable joy. A frustration in the eyes of the mad man.
Each night I would pore over guide books, plotting routes all over the city, hoping to pluck up the courage to make my way in to any one of the eateries that I aspired to get in to. There was no barrier but my own insecurity.
I like a drink, and I always have. The problem is what comes the following day.
Nothing can prepare you for a beauty you have always felt. A field as flat as a wicket; an enclosure of monastic solitude; a building burned in to cultural memory.
The problem was that I had not bought the tickets in English, so the tour guide had no opportunity to realise that she had a family of English speakers on the tour.
I do not know what everyone else does with their time if they’re not planning meals, shopping for food, cooking meals, or eating them. I wish I understood what banalities these people filled their lives with.
Paris is a question I simply do not know how to pose. Grime and gold; reality and perception; vaping shops and tourist tat.