Haussmanian tune-up

Paris is beautiful. More so than any other place my eyes have seen. The buildings, done in a Haussmanian style, intricately connect with no space in between. The grassed over backyards are long gone once the airplane takes off over the Atlantic. Gone are the swing sets, swimming pools, rose bushes, and cans of rotting waste. Instead are rows of apartments, with not a patch of nature in sight. Nature is secured. If access you desire, find a park. You won't find any greenery here. In fact, you won't find much warmth here, metaphorical or physical.

Thinking time is ample. Beautiful streets, outdoor cafes warmed by heatlamps, and seats by the seine for miles--no, kilometers, afford the thinker the much needed time necessary to finally feel alone. Distanced from how I am accustomed to passing my time, I obviously do things differently here. I talk to new people, I eat different food, and instead of listening to raging music over my Bose speakers I've more recently allowed blues to undress me through a pair of headphones.