Paris, France – March 2010
Advertisers are sand salesmen who only work toward the advancement of the desert…
It’s not so much the words, but the spontaneous and almost insolent inspiration. I laugh out loud and point it out to my husband. Philosophical graffiti. Only in France. He lifts his shoulders in a languid shrug. It’s easy to take your own culture’s eccentricities for granted.
When we disembark, I watch until the words and then the metro disappear into the tunnel. I beam with joy as we stroll the quiet Sunday sidewalks. A light drizzle mists the air. The noose of uniformity winds ever tighter around the planet, but the soul of Paris remains.