collection that didn't promise to end in heartrending despair. It
ended up being very good, but rebrowsing the multiple shelves did not
suggest any good next reads. I tried reading the first few chapters of
3 different books, but discarded all of them. I decided part of Monday
would have to be spent hunting down another English book store.
Thankfully, there are several in Paris.
D. and I parted ways in Montmarte- a very colorful neighborhood that
had more personality than any other I'd seen in Paris and with street
artists. For being the city of artists, I thought I'd see more of
these, but until then I had only seen people selling the same old
prints of the Eiffel Tower and old Moulin Rouge posters. But like
everything else in Paris, the street artists were ridiculously
expensive. A 4×6 canvas was going for 70-90€. Despite the charm of
Montmarte visually, it had a rather strong odor-Eau de Urine, shall we
say. I couldn't help thinking that a few more free public restrooms
might solve that problem. That day I don't know if there was something
in the wind or what, but every subway line was just reeking with
urine. I did manage to find some books, but by the time D. found me I
was tired, and could no longer take the nasal affront. I informed him
that France and I were not getting along and I wanted to go home. I
compared my day to Jon Stewart's description of the Wal-Mart bathroom-
smelling of urine, tears, and broken dreams.
He laughed, hugged me, and told me of his wonderful discovery. He
promised me tomorrow I could have the American triumvirate of M's:
mall, movie, and Mcdonalds. I instantly felt better.