At three in the morning I awoke again. A vibrant dream about the Lady in Grey. Mathilde and I were spelunking, with glowing symbols writ on our hands, to find a magic song to heal the princess. I climbed out of bed after writing it down. Broke fast and dressed and left the house at 6. On the way out, I was looking for the hall light but instead I rang the doorbell. Please go back to sleep, Kemi, I am sorry to wake you.
The cold was turned all the way up outside. There were three of us at the gates of Notre Dame when it opened, mass began at 8. It was a beautiful catholic mass, in French. Simple and sweet, and my mind rolling over revelations. The story of the creator who dressed himself like his creations, and his creation killed him. And he loved them still, and conquered their killing, and came to them once more, patient and open. "Look at me."
Stones. Buildings like this will not burn. I imagine our Quasimoto, fighting off the legions and denizons of France. Fighting the underworld for a gypsy girl. All of them talking in French.
I ate Nutella at the Lourve. Danced beneath the Tour Eiffel. Wandered along the Seine, stuffing my scarf around my face to keep the wind off. My sox sweating.
Along the Siene was all the noise of traffic and the city.
Steps away, down an alley tight-packed with hundred year old houses it is quiet as a ville in the hille. Garbage men ride bicicles.
Mathilde and I ate lunch slowly. Crepes with cider. The cider doesn't taste like store-bought-american-brand. It tastes like aaron-pollit-home-brew (except light and barragy, like if Aaron was 200 years old and had quite perfected his elixer). The place was so crowded we had to wait a while, but nobody complained and nobody seemed stressed. All were in high spirits of lunch. Bon appetit.
End the day on the mountain of martyrs, Montmartre, overlooking all of PaRy. There is the Notre Dame, there is the Lourve, there is that boxy tower Mathilde was telling you about, sticking out like a block on a table top. Makes me think...in America, our Cities of Towers. That's all they are, yo. Cities of Towers. Sky Scraper is a fancy word for Big Fucking Tower. Hmn.
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