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post script paris

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post script paris

We revisit Rue Mouffetard, whose bricks and doors will always be the darlings of my heart. For dinner, I shop the street vendors. This time I am the one walking down the street with a baguette, it's aroma trailing me like perfume. I walk and snap photos, often of details I want so desperately to remember; the undersides of door-frames, the mouldings around windows. My shots are all crooked and un-composed, but I don't dare assume the pretension of trying to make artistic what is already art. I notice a slight twinge in my neck as I realize I've been staring up for hours.

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hookie

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hookie

Not that there wasn't ample opportunity for nerding over the weekend, via seminars at the convention. But it seems like it's been unbearably long since I've gotten to go somewhere. See new things. So one of the days, I shamelessly played hookie and wandered around downtown Cincinnati. I do not regret it at all.

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