I love…
“Do you live in the present, Brenda?” asks an old Parisian friend.
“Ca depend du moment, Charles.” It depends on the moment, I reply.
So far, my Paris posts seem to read as if I were sleep deprived and starving. And maybe I was. But what delirious pleasure, feeling so hungry that night I ate alone. Its all about appetite, I guess. An appetite, a lust for living life now. Paris, for me, has always been about the now. Perhaps, because it renews me. It is reassuringly familiar and marvelously foreign. And I love how they continue to do all the things we do, differently.
I love the little green men in their phosphorescent green uniforms with their neon green whisk brooms who sweep the streets as clean as a parlour floor.
I love the clatter of plates, the clink of silver and glasses, at lunchtime cafes.
I love the way they move house. Not through doors and up elevators but through the windows with metal palettes that unfold like giant accordions.
I love the Abrisbus. (Shelter bus) It looks like a fabulous rock n roll RV but is used for SDS. Those who are sans domicile. Homeless.
I love to see people smoking and laughing.
I love the fact that so many French movies still take place at dinner tables where everyone is, yes, smoking and talking and talking and still talking.
I love the arrogance. I love living here as if there is no fucking tomorrow.
Hell, I even love Sarko. I do.
