There is a number of small things
Something is going on. And my left foot hurts. One week ago it was my right foot. I wonder what will happen next week, since I don’t have a third foot.
Last week, we went me and my feet (and my dad too) to Paris to look for an appartment. I didn’t like it. Neither did my feet. But we found one. A tiny one. But it’s ok. This is Paris and in Paris students have to get tiny appartments. That is a rule that won’t change until I conquer the world, in approximatively twelve years (and a few months).
To celebrate this glorious event, me and my dad (and my feet too) we went to a cemetary, the famous Père Lachaise cemetary. So calm, so irreal, a beautiful place. Colored trees and black crows. An isle of quietness in this noisy city. And all the graves, old and crumbled graves that have become illegible, crazy mausoleum built by crazy rich people, forgotten graves of forgotten people, graves full of bighty colored flowers, moving graves of International Brigade fighters…
And at the bend in the trail, a small grave, slightly decorated with a few flowers and some drawings. A young girl’s grave. There is nothing more painful than a young girl’s grave decorated with children drawings.