I was going through some old writing from when I was backpacking around Europe, and stumbled onto this, which I wrote on the penultimate day of my trip. I’m surprised how much I still like it, especially since it was done in haste, without much reflection, and probably too much wine. I remember my time in France as one of learning about Impressionism, reading Apollinaire and Sartre, and trying new cheeses every day, among other things. Je t’aime, France.
Impression: 20th Arrondissement
Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure
Old flat on the 6th floor over Ménilmontant,
In the gray blanket of August, I, a flâneur,
Retired there to the opiate of coffee
And careless snowfall of cigarette ash,
A palate for the sensations.
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