So I crossed the bridge Pont Neuf, which Ethan and Julie had walked.
I threw a memory into Le Seine and made a wish. I walked down the stairs, which Darren Hayes had walked in the Truly Madly Deeply video.
I had phallic fantasies while looking at the Eiffel Tower.
I entered the Sacre Coeur and almost cried but felt more at ease inside the Notre Dame.
I donated 2 Euros to the Jeanne D’Arc statue and lit a candle to bless the ones I love.
French people look neat, slim and pretty.
I wish I were a dancer at Moulin Rouge.
I got lost in a labyrinthine shopping centre but found a damaged French book, which I’m going to keep.
I saw suckers queuing up at Abercrombie & Fitch.
I’ve had too much French baguette and Camembert; I feel bloated.
Now I’m having a smoke in the garden outside the senate-house at Luxembourg station, dehydrating in the sun.
(Hayfever is killing me.)
After all, it’s not a feast; it’s just a test. And I’m glad it failed.
Nothing can stop me now.
La fête est ailleurs.
