March is fraught with many shortcomings. People in the Northern hemisphere hate November, and with a reason. But March I hate best. March I have to deal with. New beginnings, right - but why has life to be such an amateur about it? It’s not tender, it’s shaky, insecure and pathetic. People keep telling me they love that special shade of green when the buds unfurl, but I disagree. To me, the whole month looks like kitten vomit. Teenagers generally suck, and summer, as a teenager, is no exception.

Evasive maneuvers. Go to one of the great cities in the world. The great city has so much meaning and history it can turn even March into something significant. Epiphanies are a dime a dozen. You don’t even have to intentionally point your camera, clicking away will do just fine. All great cities of the world have metros. Why would you ever need a theatre or the movies there? Rise an escalator to see the light. The ubiquitous smell of human piss warms to the rays of the sun, suddenly bent on lingering in the streets. Because they encompass the whole world, the great cities know there has always been something new under the sun, and you, as a certified nonentity, can be part of it all.

“Fluctuat nec mergitur” says the great city, but the real motto reads of course: “The more the merrier.”

And I do love Paris at any time of the year.