Sunday, April 24, 2011

Montmartre at night is like a circus.


The echoes of the early 20th century are everywhere. Sullen singers can be heard from the cafes, accompanied by piano players; starving artists do line drawings of giddy tourists; gelato is devoured by the truckload (I choose amarena or cherry); and everyone sits watching everyone else while sipping wine or coffee. It’s not a bad life.

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