Not too terribly far from my school there is a public sculpture made to look like the street has exploded (or that rockets have made their way from the netherworld). I like it quite a lot.

On my way to my history class, I bought two art books (Librairie Visions, 184, bvd St. Germain, 6). One is on Picasso’s work with newspapers and the other is on a Surrealist photographer. For class, we explored the Louvre’s original foundation (very medieval) and the Napoleonic apartments (excessively gaudy). The apartments were a treat because they still have their original furnishings and decoration.


Later, I met up with Brigeth for dinner in St. Michel. The waiter recommended the rump steak and we split a bottle of Beaujolais (Café Le Petit Pont, 1, rue de Petit Pont, 5). After dinner, we gossiped our way around the art books in Shakespeare & Company, my favorite literary haunt. Then we found ourselves up in Montmartre at a bar, where we only ordered dessert (Le Carillon, 1 rue des Abbesses, 18). For me, une tarte de la poire. This was also the first time someone had asked for my phone number, a notable event.

Objective Truth: This city doesn't discriminate. Both British and "normal" (American) cars share the roads. This means that there's no guessing which side of the car the steering wheel is on. How surprising that only 64 pedestrians get killed each year at the intersection on Rue de Rivoli (for the mathematically disabled, that averages to a little more than one person a week).