The ritual is repeated. Another big city and endless number of guides on the table, a host of cafes where they wrote and smoked and drank Faulkner, Gertrude Stein, Hemingway, Boris Vian, Kristeva, Barthes, Foucault. And Baudelaire. And Duras. And the others.
in France requires secondary students to demonstrate their knowledge of philosophy before going to college. For some years, I dream of being French. It has nothing to do with coffee literary, or with a beret walks the streets of Paris, but because I believe that culture is the desire of enabling students to take to the streets when trying to adopt measures which will delay their retirement.
I know I'll go to the Shakespeare and Company, of course, and make him a picture of the Corcoran's, but now is an Irish pub and not bareto where Kerouac and Ginsberg became drunk, and go to buy flour for bread making Poilâne; prove the Anjou wine Dumas tribute to my soul, I will pledge to Athos and is easy to choose the gifts.
and do it, because here is Pierre Hermé and there is a tea shop, and cheese baskets to eat anywhere if it does not rain and endless markets.
But above all, is the Plaza Real .
I did not know. Because
now called Place des Vosges.
Athos I fell in love long ago. I fell in love as love people. And I know what it is (is drunk, is misogynist, is cold-er, except D'Artagnan, except with Raul, "is cruel), but I do not care.
We lived together and together we have loved and hated, we have poured and mixed our blood.
This is the place that I like to see in Paris.
Because I wanted anyone else in this world.
I do not know who made that picture, because it is accredited.
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