Sacre Couer, loud people, guitars, wine in the streets, piss in the streets, trains and trains and trains. Imagine being the driver (stop telling me to imagine), racing through tunnels all day long, under the big city, never seeing the sun. A rat? A woman pulling faces because someone stepped on her toe. Man making a speech, me not understanding. I took my jacket off and someone spoke to me, I think that is how it works. The name 'Molly' doesn't exist here. The feeling you get when you are exactly where you want to be. Learning names, learning how to use the metro. Sexadrome. Stupid camera, stupid pictures. "Quick, take a picture of me smoking". Being aware, being tired, being unable to say exactly what I mean. Markets, just lots and lots of old things, men trying to sell me sunglasses, pick pockets, beggars, drunk passed out and happy. Strangers. Effiel tower when the sun is setting, not having to imagine. I can see the searchlight from my window and I am thinking of lighthouses, again. Walking up very high and feeling like I did in a dream I had once where I was a bird. "Quick, take a picture of me with this view" (What's the rush?) Picnics! Sil vous plait plate plates. Rosé, 6 bottles for 10 euros. Too many steps. Cycling at midnight, I was smiling then but you could not see. Panorama. Haggling. Resting but not sleeping. "Poca-f*cking-hontas". An apple a day. Bridges, gardens, looking for shade. The Ferris wheel and feeling like a bird again. Learning about the smelly one who no one liked, the drunk and the absolute liar. Seeing paintings, taking pictures of paintings, getting in the way of people taking pictures of paintings. I am not Van Gogh. Noticing hair instead of shoes. You can tell where we are by the bricks and the air. 'Cochon Dande' does not impress, will need to learn a sentence or two.
I sent three postcards all saying that I am not coming home but I think I will be home before they arrive. And after living here for some days, I have realised that I am not attractive enough to stay.