im back in paris and i know why i left it
the metro; no one is smiling and certainly no one is making eye contact, god forbid.
except for the crazy man in the corner yelling about the president and his missus
as he sniffs the pair of black cotton panties he carefully unfolds from inside his coat pocket,
with a large gap in his front teeth he seems like the happiest man on this train.
and then there's the army of fashionistas standing in line to buy their cigarettes
they are like vultures
in their avant-garde groundbreakingly original garments in shades of... black.
you are all just common people so sit the fuck down.
its cold here, and i dont want to pay four euros for an unexceptional cafe creme
nor do i want to pay eighteen euros for your average steak frites
i should stop there, so ill stop there. fucking parisians.
i love you paris but you're bringing me down!
or is it barcelona that has ruined me for the better?
