This morning it took me 25 minutes to get to work. It’s 5 more than every mornings for the past month. No big deal. 5 minutes is nothing significant… Really?
Well, see, those 5 minutes actually mean a lot. They mean Paris has waken. They mean that those who went away to get some sun are slowly coming back.
Soon there will be more cars in the streets and kids in schools. Restaurant will reopen and fill in with grumpy Parisians whose tan skin will casually get back to a regular white-greyish that suits their mood so well.
Most Parisians dislike Paris in August. I don’t. Empty streets, quiet nights and extended days. You re-discover the city when it empties form its dwellers. Not having to fight to get a sit at a café’s terrasse. Gosh you can even hear birds singing if you wake up early enough.
Paris in August is ruled by tourists. They walk slow but they smile. They see the town in a way Parisians will never see it again. They actually watch, they don’t just see. They don’t complain about the rain so much. They even enjoy a bad steak at a random brasserie.
Jealous of others lying by the beach? Angry at pictures of friends around the world? Lacking sun, rest, fun and change? Yes. A little. (A lot.) There’s a bittersweet taste to it.
Anyway this parenthesis is closing. Summer is ending. Routine is demanding its rights and soon it will be like summer never happened.
I lost him; but I found myself.
The best background
Hometown for Christmas
A Lafayette Christmas.
Cafés I have known... La Bascule, Montmartre.
Just type "Thomas Pynchon"
great art the day after charlie hebdo
Plastic sandwich. Feed my soul.