Give me something dirty. Grimy even. Something sassy. That Parisian kinda sassiness. Leaving Amsterdam, the perfect city, and entering Paris, the city city, I can’t help but notice the difference. Amsterdam was beautiful, but TOO beautiful. It was too perfect. And Paris, well, Paris feels a little more fucked up. The subway stinks. There are con artists in every district waiting to get into your wallet. There’s concrete, plenty of concrete. Kinda like New York City but older. Centuries older. Each wall that holds a building up. Each time I order an espresso or say Merci, it feels like it has existed way longer. Rich in history. For some strange reason, Paris feels like home.
Visuals by Pedro Morales