NEEDLING

Last night I wanted to see a movie at the cinema. I didn’t want to see an American movie, I wanted to see something French. There were two choices in the two cinemas just down the street from Pierre and Ana’s place. Both movies looked pretty bad, but we decided nonetheless on going, choosing to our detriment Un printemps à Paris. Possibly one of the worst movies I’ve seen in a long time. To be avoided at all cost. Ana had predicted that it would be a bad choice, and opted to stay home. Pierre and I walked into the sub-degree evening weather, hoping against all hope, that we might actually find a descent picture, a convincing story, some characters that go beyond clichés and stereotypes. No such luck. I zoned out a couple of times during the movie, but somehow for some reason unknown to me, forced myself to stay awake.

(And this, on the morning of my last day in Paris for who knows how long, is my four-hundredth entry on this blog.)