…I stay in a house where nobody has lived in years, old rotten furnitures, no kitchen, two chairs and two beds, a little closet in the old bathroom, even worse of many bars I have been to. The owner is a crazy woman that spends her time in the garden smoking and caressing a giant cat. I throw myself down the streets, between bars, tourists in unwatchable poses in front of monuments, cheap beers sold from strangers kept in pavement-cleaning buckets full of water and ice.
A river of people in front of buildingsi, bar, monuments, museums, I hardly walk sometime…I find myself just wandering with no direction, but maybe that sensation is in me everywhere….suddenly I wish to be home with my cats or playing trumpet, or wash my too-dirty car, maybe pumping my half-empty wheels.. At gare du Nord a black man hits me with his shoulder and tries to start a fight, people looks less in a hurry compared to Milan, like more simple, Paris-girls smile with skirts moved by wind, Pigalle bitches ask me to join some club, I’m thirsty..
Suddenly it starts to rain, tourists are in a rush for some picture in front of Moulin Rouge, some others buy Eiffel Tower miniatures, snowball with paris inside, carillon playing “la vie en rose”…