I have yet to see
Montmartre. My final days in
Paris are a blur of sunshine, grass, kisses, the Louvre, cafés, blue skies, chocolat, and transformative clouds that unsettled my core.
My brief tour of Paris
Browsing Denis' beer collection
Whiling away the hours near the Seine on a Sunday afternoon
If real change only occurs in small, steady doses, I’m reaching the end of a cycle. When I got back to New York City after numerous flight delays and lost luggage, the first contact I had was with a rat. The shuttle dropped me off at Rivington and Clinton; I walked in the rain towards my flat at a brisk pace. As I passed numerous bags of garbage, I heard the usual rustling and a dash of wet, brown fur darted out suddenly, scrambling over my foot. Startled, the rat raced off towards the park at a sudden right angle with anxious speed, its body twisting at its haunches as its hind legs flew momentarily into the air in an illustration of Newton’s First Law of Motion.
Paris may be burning, but I’m back in New York City and the first thing I touch is a rat. In the rain. Next to garbage. This is a far cry from a red wheelbarrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.
P.S. View more of my Parisian pictures here.
P.P.S. Moving to Plan B: Monday night Permission podcast parties have moved to Sundays in the East Village. Yes, the name of the place really is Plan B. I will probably co-host, so stay tuned.
My brief tour of Paris
