"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>the first photo


although i look like an awkward-angle-hog, gizmo smiling next to me looks stunning (the guy on the right is gizmo’s friend, but that blonde girl just walked into our shot. you can’ t see it here, but gizmo’s hand was crawling up my inner thigh . . . you can see the original photo here.)

la vente de la seine faite froide, et il y a du pluie des temps en temps, mais la ville ne reste jamais. en tous cas, la soleil faite une efforte. je bois légèrement un chocolat chaud, et, comme tu vois, je practique mon français.

after the louvre yesterday came le crypte archaeologique under notre dame, and most spectacularly, i took la Batobus (i am a fucking velveeta head-tourist) across la seine.

the waters lapped and gurgled like a witches brew, and the ancient quais that have echoed the liquid sounds for centuries resonated like a melodrama. the sun was crisp and embracing. but at one point, the european union flag that that trailed off the port lapped water up into my face. it felt like europe was trying to remind me that it can be a bitch sometimes too. a bitch in my face.

i wandered around, wondering where my next meal was going to come from, through place des vosages and rue ste antoine, like a heart attack in the soul. i grew tired of old men looking at me like my pants were translucent.

today, after a typical tourist visit to la muséee de victor hugo, i literally got lost somewhere in la rive gauche until i found myself in montparnasse; dull; quiet, creepy, and dirty. i walked along la seine again for a bit, then sat down at Café Saint Severin with a waiter who kept singing “pas de probleme, ma cherie!” over and over. french waiters are cunning and full of vigour. i long for their spirits.

then, i got what i wanted.

there are rollerbladers who perform tricks by la notre dame. they work for little euros but their audiences are large and gracious. i caught their attention with a simple ” félicitations.”

jeremie, marc, and soheil. jeremie is a gorgeous italian-français with a faux-hawk and a six-pack. marc is an african-français with a kind soul. soheil kinda sulked in the background.

at one point, jeremie lifted me up like a damsel in distress and performed one of his rollerblading tricks with me in his arms. i held onto him with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. we snapped photos together, he autographed my shoulder (of all places i was offering).

we are meeting up for un bière ce soir.

someone left his comment in my blog yesterday: Oh my God, I love your life! I spent all night reading all your posts, I didn’t think anyone could have so much fun…going out, drinking. I wanna be you, I think you are so hot…

i am a mixture of bewilderment, gratitude, and misunderstanding. i am a combination of sentiments that don’t belong together. like a pair of dissonnant bodies, intertwined.

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