We went out for breakfast. Through the market we sampled the produce and grabbed a few things. We stopped a glass of beer, sitting out in the morning sun. It was just after 9am and it felt like Spring. It felt good. An old man hand-cranked a mechanical organ with one hand as he fed it music with the other. The yellowed creased cardboard tablature dropped to a shelf, folding itself into a neat stack. The music looked older than both the man and machine.
I arrived too early. I took the metro to the ‘Arc de Triomphe’ then crossed the River Siene in the pre-dawn. I bought the most expensive expresso in Europe from a filthy little cafe I couldn’t find again if I wanted to. I waited for the sun to come up so I could catch a glimpse of that famous skyline as the sun broke the horizon.
I smoked three Lucky Strikes and ordered another coffee. I was so sick of night busses I was beginning to get sick myself. A familiar silhouette gradually appeared in the distance. It wasn’t a glorious sight to behold, the Eiffel Tower. Not on this day. An understated spike sticking out of the ground on a drizzly overcast winter day.
It was exciting to be in Paris.
See those cranes? The arm of a crane is called a boom, because if your city has cranes, shit is being built. If shits being built, your town is booming.
Thats probably bullplop. That name thing is a coincidence. What isn’t bullplop though; is Frankfurt. Which is a neat city, i the traditional sense of the word.
Met up with Dave from Laos. He showed me around for a few days. Killed it. Good times.