A crooked lane by the Louvre. Summer in Paris.

A crooked lane by the Louvre. Summer in Paris. Behind an old moped shamelessly crawls a dirty lorry. In the cab Nirvana is playing. A mongrel drinks water and squints an eye at the café that's on the square by the fountain. I'll get myself a coffee, for her – two croissants. I'll smoke and listen to the poor thing, on how one ought to live happily without daydreams and self-deception.