Paris est une fête

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.

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